


Kairos

by twoam



Category: Blackadder
Genre: Anal, Angst, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Character Development, Dirty Talk, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, England (Country), Everyone Is Alive, Happy Ending, Hospitals, London, M/M, Masturbation, Nature, Permanent Injury, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-War, Recovery, Rivalry, Second Chances, Self-Doubt, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, Touch-Starved, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoam/pseuds/twoam
Summary: All Darling wanted was to survive. When he wakes up in a military hospital in England after going over the top, he's left with the question of what exactly he survived for. Also with the question of how Blackadder got there and why he's such an annoying git.A tale of second chances, insults, cowards, skiving, nurses, a fancy country house, war, paperwork, unexpected heroism and falling in love. And of England.
Relationships: Edmund Blackadder/Kevin Darling
Comments: 24
Kudos: 47





	1. The last one you sent to me

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fix-it where they survived, fell in love and got a happy ending, while also still being argumentative bastards who wind each other up. Then I got pulled into the historical research and things snowballed from there. I've tried for reasonable accuracy but there's also some creative licence too. I deeply enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> Mal created a playlist for this story, which I recommend checking out. It's available here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3S8YoopbZAvq0OqxhmwkdH?si=_dpR-szITdmsJN717rkUqA
> 
> **Warning for stuff that's not tagged:** period appropriate attitudes towards mental health and a couple of very brief references to the 1918-19 Spanish Flu pandemic. Also canon appropriate rude language.

The blow of a whistle.

Above him, a white ceiling. Not the open sky he last remembered over his head. 

Where was he? It wasn't where he was supposed to be.

He couldn't move his head to check. His breath struggled to get out, felt tight in his chest. All his limbs ached, too heavy to move. The tight sheets around him pinned him down to the bed. 

'Good luck, everyone.'

What came next? He couldn't recall. Everything felt too heavy, too slow. His eyelids sunk under the weight of his fatigue, pulled him back to sleep.

* * *

Something was jabbing into his armpit. The sensation was highly disagreeable and woke him up. His eyes felt heavy and his vision was blurry. Ugh. The jabbing didn't stop as he blinked to clear his vision. What sort of stupid prank he was being subjected to? His eyes focused enough to see as the jabbing finally stopped, something cold and hard resting in his armpit.

A thermometer. The nurse standing next to his bed, watching the mercury rise before looking at him. 

"Good morning." Her voice sounded familiar, yet unfamiliar, like he'd heard it in a dream.

"Good morning." The nurse bent over him, the smell of soap and antiseptic hitting him as a wave. A novelty after the stink of the trenches. Her chest pressed against his arm as she peered at the thermometer. It didn't make him feel anything. Kevin was too tired to get a thrill from someone who smelt clean having her bosom pressed against him, despite months of nothing but his own imagination for comfort. 

"Well, it looks like you're finally on the mend. Your temperature's broken and that was the first time you said good morning back to me. Keep up the good work, captain, and you'll be back on your feet in no time." She stood back up, smiled at him kindly. Her dark hair was neat, pinned back under her cap. She looked fresh, peaceful. None of the kind of dark circles around her eyes the field nurses had. There was no distant rumble of shelling in the background. It didn't feel like France. 

"Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital, captain." Where? The question stuck in his mouth, his throat ached, felt like it'd been rubbed with sandpaper. It must have come across, because the nurse clarified. "In England." England. Not quite the blighty wound he'd hoped for, considering how sick he felt, and the pain that he was starting to register in his leg, but he was back home. 

There was so much more to ask, but his brain was too foggy to pull questions together. He tried to lift himself up a little, move from his prone position. "Let me help." The nurse reached over, helped him to sit up. He was too exhausted to be humiliated by being too weak to even move himself. 

He felt sticky in his sweat-soaked pyjamas. Kevin looked down, got a whiff of himself. He smelt unpleasant, but not trench disgusting. Still, a bath. A bath would be refreshing. It might even make him feel better. He struggled with the words, the nurse patted his shoulder sympathetically. 

"I need a bath." 

"A bath? Hmm." Her hand moved to his forehead, touched it gently. His eyes fluttered shut from her quiet kindness. Even in his disoriented state, he knew he was lucky to wake up on her shift and not with a battleaxe instead. "Yes, I think you're cool enough that it shouldn't bring back your fever. I'll get an orderly to come help you." The hand left his forehead, her footsteps went away from him. It felt too difficult to keep his eyes open, he drifted off.

"Good morning." A different greeting this time, from a deeper voice but shyer, the words awkward. Kevin struggled to open his eyes, managed to meet the gaze of the orderly. He looked back, before he moved to his side without another word. His hand gentle on his shoulder, carefully supporting him as he tried to move his legs, to swing them over the side of the bed.

The pain rocketed up his right leg, making his whole body tense before it abated. The pain throbbed, grew deeper as he gritted his teeth and tried to move it. Slowly, carefully, with a wince of agony each time he moved it. 

"Shit." It was worse than his previous foot injury that had miraculously healed up well, much to his displeasure at the time. This time he wasn't so lucky. Or unlucky. It was hard to tell which through the pain. Kevin just wanted it to stop. The orderly picked up the walking stick he'd brought with him, pressed it into his hand without judgement. The support helped him up onto his feet, the orderly still holding onto his shoulder as he got onto his feet. Wobbled around like a newborn fawn. An injured one. Easy pickings for any passing predator. 

Slowly, with great effort, with gritted teeth and more swearing he had to apologise for – at least it wasn't in front of the nurse – he started to walk. The pain shot up his right leg, making him stumble. The orderly was with him for the whole way, the long walk to the bathroom. Ready to guide him along when he stumbled. Still silent, in a way that Kevin was starting to appreciate. He couldn't cope with one of those cheery people now, telling him to keep his chin up, that worse things happened at sea. One of those thoughtless morons who thought life was just one great game, and oblivious to anyone else's pain.

Deep down he knew exactly who he was thinking of. Melchett.

It was only when he arrived in the bathroom, a stool pulled up for him to sit on as the orderly ran the bath, that he started to notice his surroundings through the haze of pain and exhaustion. This wasn't the kind of blank hospital bath he was expecting. There was too much marble and the claw bathtub would have cost him several years' salary alone. It was some sort of country house, some Lord so-and-so doing his bit for the war effort by letting his house become a hospital. If he wasn't so sick, he might even enjoy being in here. It was the fanciest bathroom he'd even been in.

The bath was hard work. Getting in, getting settled, washing himself. The presence of the orderly didn't embarrass him, he'd been in the army too long to be embarrassed by just being naked in front of strangers. Army baths quickly shocked out any squeamishness. The only embarrassment he felt was when he needed help with washing his hair. His arms were too weak to manage it, muscles worn out from his fever. The orderly stepped up, silent again, worked the shampoo into his hair for him without him needing to ask for it. Disinterested fingers in his scalp, yet still more human than most touch he'd experienced in the past year. 

It was like being a person again, instead of just a soldier. Human contact, even from the professional hands of medical staff. It had been too long. It was embarrassing to feel overwhelmed by the touch of strangers, who were just helping him with nothing else to it, but he did. 

The jug of water poured over his head to wash the shampoo out helped distract him. The struggle to get out of the bath, how hard it was to pull himself back up out of the water. The orderly helped him there too, no need to ask. His hands reassuringly certain as he helped him up. That human touch again. The pain was a distraction too, just like how hard it was to get into his fresh pyjamas, to go back up the long corridor to his bed. The immediate problems he had, instead of a longing for some kind of real human contact again. 

For Doris. Just even her hand on his arm again would be enough. Just like when she'd guided him through a crowd on his last leave, after taking a show in town. His treat. Anything for her.

* * *

Recovery only intensified his longing for Doris. The longer he could stay awake, the more he thought about her. Unlike the brief flashes of memory he had after going over the top, the gaps in them became more obvious as the days passed, he could remember her clearly. He wanted to remember her too, unlike France. Kevin still wasn't well enough to read, or write, despite the vague promise of letters to read from Sister Lewis. 

Out of the nurses who came after her, to poke and prod at him, she was still the kindest one. Professionally detached but wished him well, unlike the striking indifference, or the one nurse who seemed to actively dislike him, enjoyed making him try walking and then berating him when he couldn't. She was reliable, not a sadist. She was someone he could ask to help him with this tricky task.

"Could I ask you to do me a favour?" The question made her pause and pull back from adjusting his pillows for him sharply. "I want to write to my parents, and my girlfriend. Could you write it for me?" Her suspicion faded, replaced by a smile. 

"Certainly, Captain Darling. Are they long letters? If so, I'll have to come back after my round."

"Just short ones. To let them know how I'm doing." She took the letter paper left on the bedside cabinet for him, pulled over a chair to sit down next to his bed while he considered what to say. For his parents it was simple. A brief update that he was awake, doing better, on the mend with nothing for them to worry about. He didn't have to think hard about it, reeled it off to Sister Lewis who wrote it down faithfully. 

The letter to Doris was more tricky. More heartfelt. Difficult to share with anyone else, even with someone who'd been kind to him like Sister Lewis had. He thought about it while she addressed the envelope to his parents, folded the letter up neatly and put it inside. Still thinking about it when she was ready, pen hovering over the next sheet of paper.

"Ready when you are, Captain Darling." Usually it was so easy to start, the endearments rushed out of his pen without thinking. All the warm thoughts he didn't have space for in his day to day survival on the front-line. Despite all his thoughts of her the past few days, it was still hard to know where to start. 

Of course, with her name. The best place to start.

"My Beloved Doris." He glanced over at her to see her reception, but she didn't blink, writing it down without hesitation. It gave him the confidence to go on, knowing that she wouldn't start laughing at him. "My deepest apologies for my lateness in writing to you. Finally recovered enough to start getting up out of my bed. I think of you constantly and you cheer up my recovery like nothing else." A break while he tried to get the next words ready. They were so important. He should have asked last time he was on leave, not like this, but he'd been a fool. Not even realised how badly he wanted to until he was on his way to that trench, about to face certain death after dodging it for so long.

"I wanted to wait until I saw your lovely face again, but I can't wait until I see you again, my love. I can't imagine my life without you in it, you are my light. Will you marry me? Will propose with a proper ring next time I see you, but please say yes." He faltered, knew how he wanted to conclude but still struggled to say it to a stranger. Her pen scratched against the paper, writing down his words, until it stopped. Waiting for him to continue. "Please come as soon as you can. I love you with all my heart. Yours always, Kevin." The silence as she finished writing, as if he hadn't just asked her to write a proposal for him, unnerved him. "Was that alright?"

"I think so. I'm sure she'll say yes to such a sincere proposal." She neatly addressed the envelope, blotted the letter dry before folding it up and placing it inside. No seal. It still had to go through the censors first, something Kevin preferred not to think about. He knew how judgemental censors could be. He'd been one.

"I hope so. Thank you." She tucked the envelopes into her pocket, gave him one last smile before going on with her round, onto the next sick man to help. Too late for him to take it back. His heart was out on the line. Surely she'd say yes? Yet he couldn't help but worry. 

It was at least something to think about that wasn't the bloody pain in his leg. Or the war.

* * *

The next day after breakfast, Kevin picked up the bundle of letters again. This time the letters didn't swim and stayed in a stable formation. He could read "Captain Kevin Darling" on the envelopes. Finally! Despite asking her to write his proposal down for him, asking her to read his letters out for him as well was too much. His mother loved to put mortifying memories in her letters that he'd rather forget and Doris' words read out by another woman felt wrong.

He sorted through them, savouring the anticipation of opening them. Letters from home were always the highlight of his day, a reminder that the life he so desperately wanted to return to still existed in the mud and death around him. Despite the safety of the hospital, it was still somewhere he didn't want to be. He wanted to be home. He divided them up into piles, assessed the handwriting and postmarks. 

He recognised Doris' handwriting immediately, the delicate cursive of the D in 'Darling'. Just one letter from her. It was post-marked with the same date as when he went over the top over a month ago. He put the other letters aside. They could wait. Kevin eased the envelope open, drawing it out. He unfolded the cream paper, caught the first line under the date.

'Dear Kevin'

Not how she usually started her letters. A spasm of fear in his stomach made his eye twitch. His gut knew exactly what was about to follow, he'd read enough of other people's letters to know by now, but his heart protested. She wouldn't.

_'Dear Kevin,_

_I hope you are safe and well, and keeping dry. I take no pleasure in writing this letter, but I feel that telling you the truth is the best course of action, even in these difficult circumstances. To delay any further would be unnecessarily cruel.'_

Bloody hell, she would. She had! On the very day he went over the top.

_'I think it is best if we end our relationship. The war has changed so many things, and it’s changed us most of all. When you were last home, I hardly recognised you as being the same man I once loved. I hardly recognised the woman I was back then either. I think you would be happier with someone who loves you as you are now, instead of with someone who just misses who you were before._

_With fondest wishes for your safety and your future,  
Doris'_

His hands shook as he put the letter down. He'd always thought that heartbreak was one of those silly metaphors, not a physical thing. Stupid him. It was completely literal. It felt like she'd reached into his chest, pulled his heart out and smashed it in front of him. It was every bit as much a physical pain as the ache in his leg.

'With someone who loves you as you are now, instead of someone who just misses who you were before.' 

It hadn't been enough for the war to steal years of his life and his health. It stole whatever part of him Doris had loved too. The war, the army, Melchett, they took and took and took from him and then threw him at the German machine guns to make sure they finished the job. What had he got out of it? Nightmares, an eye twitch to go with his nervous stammer and a limp that the doctor reckoned might be permanent. 

His head dipped down. He'd lost the only thing that mattered, the one thing that'd kept him going despite all that. The idea of a home to return to, where nothing had changed, where everything would be the same again. 

A home where he'd be married to Doris. Married to...oh no.

The proposal. It would be on its way, if not already in her hands. He scrambled up the bed, winced and slid back down from the pain of his leg. There was enough time for the morning post, if he could write a quick postcard, just something to lessen the shame of proposing to her a month after she'd left him. The man in the bed next to him turned, gave him a stare as Kevin tried to get up. 

There was a postcard on the other man's bedside cabinet. Close enough to reach without getting out of his bed. That'd be enough. He stammered the question out.

"That postcard – how much?" 

"I paid a halfpenny."

"I.O.U.?" 

"Fine." Kevin reached out of the bed, leaned far enough over to pick it up. He flipped it over as he got it. His blood went cold. 

A nurse kissing a recovering soldier in his hospital pyjamas. The cloying caption read 'not in the prescription'. He'd hoped it'd be a photograph of a local landmark, or a crude joke, or even one of those ghastly postcards with doe-eyed children on it. Not some romantic image on the reverse of a message telling her to disregard his proposal. It just seemed sadistic. Too late to get another card, it was almost the time the post was collected. Any further delay would just add to his humiliation. 

_'Dear Doris,  
Please disregard my previous letter, only just read your last letter. Apologises. Enjoy the rest of your life. Kevin.' _

His hand hesitated at the end. He wanted to add a post-script. Something about if she changed her mind and wanted him back, he'd be waiting for her. That he'd always love her. God, it sounded pathetic. Would he take her back?

His pride said no. His heart and cowardice said yes. His pride won out as he put his pen down and stuck down the stamp. Sister Lewis was approaching, the one person he could trust with this task.

"Could you put this in the post, please?" He offered it to her, didn't let his eyes meet hers as she took it out of his fingers. He'd crack under her sympathy.

"Of course." He watched her hand put it away in her pocket, the same one that yesterday had carried his hopes and dreams in it. He hoped she'd be kind enough to not read the postcard until she was out of sight, not to mention what she saw on it afterwards. 

"Thank you." He reclined back in his bed, shut his eyes as she walked away. He felt crushed, hopeless. The ache in his heart was unbearable. Now what? He'd survived, by some miracle, only to find out he'd already lost what he survived for. It felt like another joke at his expense. A braver man might wonder if it was worth living. Kevin knew better, he'd cling onto life at any cost. Still. What kind of miserable life was it going to be?

* * *

That evening he made himself go through his other letters, the letter from Doris neatly folded back in its envelope at the bottom of the stack. He shouldn't keep it, but he couldn't bear to get rid of it. The last letter she sent to him. Their last tie to each other. 

His attention to the other letters was cursory. Letters from his parents about what was going on at home, and as he went through them, best wishes for his recovery. A letter from his old school master that another one of his classmates had died. Some military letters that should have been directed to whoever Melchett's new dogsbody was. Obviously he was an idiot, whoever he was, since he couldn't even do something as simple as redirections correctly. 

Lastly, a letter dictated by Melchett, copied down by his new assistant. Not just an idiot, it appeared, but incapable of writing too. His handwriting was atrocious, which might be a mercy considering how the parts he could read disgusted him. The disgust was both at Melchett – that old bastard, sending best wishes after cheerfully sending him off to be killed – and at himself. All the things he'd done, he would have done anything, anything at all, for someone who hadn't appreciated it in the slightest. In the hospital bed that Melchett had put him in as much as the Germans who'd actually shot him, where he could scrape to have some pride and not have his immediate survival on the line, it didn't feel worth it. 

With a noise of disgust he tore up the letter, like he wished he could have done with Doris' letter too. At least Doris had cared for him, once.

* * *

Despite his broken heart, the rest of Kevin was healing. Every day he got stronger, the strength started to return to his muscles. The cough eased off. The fatigue drained away. His leg still hurt, the limp remained, but he started to walk, slowly, hobbling along with his stick. Not for long, not very far, but independent of any orderly or nurse helping him along. An improvement. 

Still, it was enough to stop him having to go back to the front-line soon, or possibly ever. It was the blighty wound he'd been hoping for since he arrived in France and realised he was a coward who only cared about surviving. Despite this, he was miserable. No goal to drive him, either of survival or going back to his old life. His old life was gone. No sudden change of heart from Doris, like she sometimes had changed it before. This time her decision was final. Even a sob story about his injury wouldn't move her.

He'd considered trying the sob story anyway. Seriously considered it, even got halfway through a letter to her on the very subject before thinking better of it. Humiliating himself further wouldn't make her love him again. He'd ripped that up too, thrown it away in embarrassment and frustration. Maybe if he had something else to think about apart from his broken heart, it might be better. Recovery alone wasn't enough. Or trying to think of a future with another woman, someone else to marry and set up his own home with. 

Kevin knew his odds were bad. He hadn't been swimming in girls before the war, and that man was already gone. Replaced by someone even less satisfactory, according to Doris, and now he might have a permanent limp too. What kind of woman was going to settle for that? 

Sometimes, when he could look behind his own misery, he wondered what happened to his company too. From the silence around him, from the way nobody had mentioned them to him, he assumed it must be the worst. His own memories were no help, only brief flashes without context before he woke up in this hospital. The thought of being the only survivor of the company that went over together was dire. They might have been annoying gits – especially Blackadder – but they didn't deserve to die. 

He wanted to know. He didn't want to know. Ignorance might be a blessing, to not know if they were among all the other dead men he'd known. It left a door open for just a little while longer. 

"You're well enough to come off the ward now." Sister Lewis delivered it like it was good news, which it was for her. Kevin hadn't died and was well enough to leave her care. The orderly adjusted the wheel chair he'd brought for him, to move him onto the next stage of his recovery. "You'll be in recovery now. You'll have a lot more freedom there, I think you'll enjoy it." When she said it, it sounded simple. It sounded plausible that he might like being moved into a different room with a new set of strangers. "If you keep working on your physical therapy, you might get more movement back in your leg than you think. Keep your chin up, captain. There's plenty of hope for you yet." 

The tone of her voice said she wasn't just talking about his leg. It was obvious she'd realised what had happened with Doris, that this was her polite way of telling him he'd get over her. It didn't feel like there was much hope, despite his likely escape from going back to the front-line, but it'd be churlish to argue. Better to show gratitude for all she'd done for him during his time on the ward instead.

"Thank you." Kevin was well enough to get himself into the wheelchair, his belongings placed into his lap as the orderly wheeled him away. This one was older, more talkative. Kevin tuned his chatter out as he examined the corridors instead, something to distract him from the embarrassment of being wheeled about like an invalid. The long, red runners along the wooden floors that the chair pulled at. The illustrious ancestors staring down at him from the walls as he invaded their terrain, a terrible commoner. The stuffed birds everywhere, all of them with a mildly shocked expression. It seemed fitting. He'd be shocked too if someone shot him and then stuffed him to display in a hallway. Poor, stupid pheasants. 

The nurse met him at the bottom of the house's great stairs, as he slowly made his way down them. Despite the orderly insisting he could get the chair down, he didn't want to try it out and get dropped. The steps were wide and low, they could be taken slowly. By the time he reached the bottom he was in agony, but Kevin made it. 

"Captain Kevin Darling?" In too much pain to say 'yes', nodded as the orderly hauled the wheelchair down the stairs behind him. "I'll be taking you to your new room." The orderly moved his belongings out of the chair, held onto them as he sat back down in it gingerly. 

"Ready to go, Sister Burnett." She nodded, trotted ahead of them as he was pushed along behind her. 

"This is the recovery unit, you'll be here until you're fit to be discharged. It's all officers here, mostly captains like yourself. Each morning there's breakfast, then check-ups and treatments. After lunch there's any additional treatments you might need, otherwise your afternoon is free. Wednesday and Sunday afternoons are when you're allowed visitors. Then we have dinner, and lights out at 11 o'clock sharp. Patients are encouraged to explore the grounds of the house, but I'd discourage you from the village, even with a day pass. It's horribly low class. Any questions?" 

It was too much to take in at once. Kevin was sure he'd missed something but didn't want to ask when he saw the look on Sister Burnett's face. It wasn't a real invitation, more of a challenge she didn't want him to take. He missed Sister Lewis already.

* * *

His new room was some sort of function room converted into a dormitory. Walnut chairs were pushed up against the wall, facing the metal framed beds against the opposite wall. The head boards were rubbing the duck egg blue paint off the walls. One of his new room-mates was there, rummaging through a bag on another bed, as the orderly showed him his bed, put his belongings away for him before taking his wheelchair away. The other man snatched the cigarette packet out of the bag, gave Kevin a nod and a quick 'good afternoon' before leaving the room. 

He was alone. It was the first time he'd been truly alone since he'd woken up. No nurses, no orderlies, no other patients. It felt strange, peaceful. He limped over to the window, his walking stick thumping against the wooden floor when the Turkish rugs didn't dampen it. Outside it was early winter, the trees bare, the ground muddy and littered with leaves. The difference from France was striking. No blasted trees, holes dug by shells, none of the quagmires from the constant wear of trucks and horses that could sink a man if he wasn't careful. Kevin leaned against his stick, watched the wind wave the branches of the trees, despite the ache in his leg. Until now he hadn't looked outside, either in bed or being moved around for a purpose. Finding that the world still existed like he remembered it from before was a pleasant surprise. 

Something to think about that wasn't Doris, or his future. 

He turned away from the window, went back over to his bed. He started to unpack his bag, for something to do, to make it nice and neat for his stay here. Some clothes he didn't recognise, with a note tucked inside them. _'With courtesy, from the Women's Collection for Officers'_. He checked the labels, felt the pyjamas carefully. That was silk, the real stuff, not the cheapo artificial kind. He'd have to take these with him, they were far too valuable to leave behind. He folded them up precisely, stacked the clothes neatly on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. It looked organised. Just how he liked it. 

The other items he recognised, either saved when they took them off him or from the dugout he'd left them behind in. Old letters, his kit, the bits and pieces he'd acquired over the years, the spare stationery he'd borrowed. The tobacco tin he kept his keepsakes and diary in. The painting of the South Downs on the front was scratched, starting to fade. Doris had picked it specially for him, sent it during his first month away. They'd been on holiday there in that glorious summer of 1913. They'd walked the Downs together, coming back to the Bed and Breakfast with her, light in heart if heavy in his steps. Kevin had promised to take her back once the war was over. 

He opened it carefully and saw Doris staring back out at him. Her blue eyes were serious in a way he'd never noticed before. He always thought it was love in them, now he realised she was possibly already falling out of love with him by the time of this photograph. Even after she'd got it taken at his request, to send it to him after he'd lost the photograph of the two of them together in that dug-out collapse. He shut the tin sharply, shoved it back into his bag. 

Enough unpacking for now. He'd go take a walk, see what was going on in the house. Even the pain in his leg wasn't enough to stop him. It was time to explore that freedom he was promised.

The hallway was empty as he shuffled out into it. A good start, it gave him the privacy to take his time and walk as slowly as he needed. The marble tilted floor with its diagonal white and black pattern, the echo of his walking stick as he walked along it. It seemed so long, so empty compared to upstairs. None of the stuffed birds here, lots of marble statues instead like the ones they had casts of in the art room at school. 

He paused to look at the art, which was much more interesting than the old ancestors upstairs. A mighty sea battle, the sea churning as the British fleet fought...whose flag was that? The Dutch? Probably the Dutch, they always used to fight them at sea. Or was it the French? Maybe it was Trafalgar? He should know this, he always got top marks for History at school. His history master even commented on how excellent he was at recalling lists of battles and monarchs. 

Footsteps approached him from the direction that led to the front door of the house. He ignored them as they stopped. It was the noise of disgust that made his head turn to see who it was.

"Oh god, not you again. Haven't I suffered enough?" Edmund Blackadder. Blackadder, looking very alive and healthy, not at all dead and buried in a cemetery somewhere in France, with a sneer on his face.

"I think you'll find that's my line, Blackadder." He didn't have to think about it, the sparring came back to him instantly. Years of practice, of being constantly undermined by this sneaky bastard who refused to respect his authority. Not even the surprise of finding that he was still alive could undermine it.

"Now Darling, that's not very nice."

"That's Captain Darling to you!" Blackadder ignored his protest, started walking in his direction as he returned fire. 

"But what can I expect from a man who's shot himself in the foot again? I've heard of desperation, but surely this is a bit much?" Condensing and sarcastic as ever. It'd almost be reassuring if he wasn't so infuriating. 

"What's wrong with you? Cracked again? Have you finally evolved beyond wearing pants on your head and having pencils shoved up your nose?" Blackadder passed him, gave him a withering look that made Kevin think he was spot-on. Trust Blackadder to still be trying to fake he was mad to get out of it. 

"Don't overdo the limp, they might realise you're faking it." Kevin sneered back as Blackadder continued on his way, disappeared up the corridor with a casual wave behind him. Bastard. Still alive, and still an absolute bastard. He felt furious.

He felt alive.


	2. Put a face on the world, turn your back to the wall

The mess was so busy that it reminded Kevin of school. In fact, with all the tables full and everyone in their little groups, it was exactly like dinner at school. He didn't even have the safety of being a table monitor here, with a set table to sit at and the power to decide who got to eat the nice parts of dinner and who got all the scraggy bits. It was more like before he was one, when nobody would let him sit at their table. 

In a corner he'd missed on his first look, there was a table with a free seat. He made a beeline towards it, put his plate down and pulled his chair out with determination. If he didn't make eye contact with whoever else was there before he sat down, they won't be able to get him to go away. It worked at school, worked at Pratts & Sons, worked even better in the army despite the occasional swearing he got in return. 

"I still don't understand it, what exactly did I do to get punished with you?" Kevin looked up from his plate, gave Blackadder a look. He wasn't going anywhere, despite the contempt on Blackadder's face. He'd claimed his seat and no amount of insults from Blackadder would push him out of it. 

Since their first encounter in the hallway, they'd run into each other several times over the last few days and spent each encounter trading insults. Each time his sparring improved. It was almost like old times again. Better, actually, both in terms of not being on the front-line and not having Melchett lurking behind him, making him nervous. It felt like a game, not life or death. No chance of Blackadder getting him in trouble now. 

"Yes, I imagine that's quite difficult for you, considering how much you've done wrong in your life. Hard to know where to start, really. Perhaps with your earliest memory?" 

"Ah, sharing childhood memories. We could start with the last time a woman touched you, which of course was when the midwife spanked you to make you cry." 

"Ha ha." It didn't cut as much as he would have expected, as much as it would have if Blackadder knew about Doris leaving him. It would have been finely targeted then. It was annoying, but not enough to put him off his food as he started to eat. 

"Really though, I'm curious. An entire room of tables for you to sit at, and yet you choose to come here." 

"It's busy." Kevin gestured with his fork to the tables around them, crowded with officers. Their table was small, but it was just the two of them. It was logical he'd sit here, even if it meant sharing with Blackadder. 

"So that made you come here." There was an implication in the words that made Kevin squint, put his fork back down in annoyance. As if he'd come seeking Blackadder out. As if. 

"What exactly do you expect me to say? That I came here for the company?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did, I'm fascinating. Especially to someone as boring as you." Kevin made a noise of disgust and returned to his food. It wasn't even worth replying to. He expected it to be followed by more insults to ignore, which didn't come. Instead when he looked up from his plate, Blackadder had started reading the newspaper he'd brought with him, his cleared plate pushed to the side. He picked up his coffee, took a mouthful of it and made a disgusted face. 

Kevin snorted in amusement, went back to his food. It wasn't exciting, but it tasted like it was cooked by someone with taste buds, a novel experience after eating army food for months. Even Melchett hadn't been able to get another decent cook. He cleared his plate, pushed it aside and reached for the tea he'd brought over. He took a sip of it and nearly spat it out. It tasted like, well, he wasn't sure what exactly it tasted like but it wasn't tea. More like someone had taken the dish water and turned it into a beverage. 

"Dear god!"

"Ah, so they got the tea too. Excellent. Thank you for the confirmation." Blackadder folded up his newspaper neatly, got up from the table as Kevin tried to get the taste out of his mouth. "Yet somehow it's still better than Baldrick's coffee. Truly unsurpassed, thank God. Now make sure you don't waste it Darling, sailors drown every day for that stuff." 

"That's Captain Darling to you!" Blackadder ignored him again, placed the folded up newspaper on his head before turning to leave. He snatched it off his head, unfolded it to see what was wrong with it. Nothing, just a normal looking copy of The Times. 

"Check the crossword. Three across, four letters. The clue says 'word that describes you'." Kevin flicked through the paper as Blackadder departed, paused on the crossword. Three across, four letters. TOAD.

"Oh ha ha, very witty."

* * *

Kevin didn't make the mistake of showing up to breakfast late. He got there early and took the same table as he'd shared with Blackadder yesterday. It was out of the way, which was probably why Blackadder had picked it. He'd already read his post but he brought it with him anyway. He unfolded the letter and spread it on the table as he started to eat. Nothing that exciting, more news from Croydon, but his father was kind enough to include some cricket news. Their plans for next summer, a season he might be able to witness even if keeping wicket might be out for good. 

"What are you doing here?" He looked up, locked eyes with Blackadder, and put another forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth. No need to hurry his breakfast, or even pause it. The very slight narrowing of Blackadder's eyes showed he'd hit his mark as he chewed and swallowed.

"Me? I'm eating my breakfast of course." 

"I wasn't asking about that, you nitwit. I mean what are you doing using my table?" 

"Your table? I don't see your name on it."

"It's right there." Blackadder pointed to the edge of the table, and Kevin saw it. A label stuck to the edge of the table, saying _'Blackadder's table, keep off'_. Oh, that was actually quite good, even he had to admit that. Nice use of labels. He did like labels. 

"You shouldn't be putting labels on other people's property. Besides, I got here before you. Finders keepers." The rest of the mess was starting to fill up, groups arriving together and taking their tables. Kevin waited with interest, to see if Blackadder would walk off to join another table, or would put up with sharing with him. With a sigh, Blackadder put his plate down and took a seat. Interesting, he'd still rather share with him than go join another table. He felt a little smug as he went back to his letter, feeling he'd proved his point about yesterday, that there wasn't anything more to it.

They ate in silence, the noise of the other tables covering it as Kevin read his letter and Blackadder read a book that from a brief glimpse of the title, appeared to be in French. 

"You're reading a French book?" The question made Blackadder look over the top of the book condescendingly. 

"Just because you're a moron who can't understand French, doesn't mean all of us are."

"I can understand French!"

"Beyond road signs and French women rejecting you? Although they tend to slap you if they're not interested and even someone as devoid of that thing called a brain as you are can probably understand that." 

"I had to read reports in French, I understand it perfectly well." 

"Oh good. I'm so glad to hear the French Army had time to report to you on their stationery situation." They glared at each other, before Blackadder went back to his book. Kevin went back to his letter. The tea actually tasted like tea, a pleasant surprise after the debacle yesterday. 

Despite their argument, and the label, Kevin went back to the table for lunch, and dinner too. It was a nice spot, tucked out of view, away from the other officers. Despite the way Kevin had taken his spot over, despite the constant bickering and insults they traded, Blackadder kept coming back to the table too. After a few more days arguing, they came to a truce: neither of them was giving up this spot to go join the others.

Kevin felt too uncertain to get close to the other officers, too worried about the questions about where he'd served, if he had a girl back home. Now that he was getting up and about, starting treatment, talking to other people, even if they were Blackadder, Doris had stopped dominating his thoughts. But she still lingered in them, her and the implications their breakup had for his future. Too much for him to be comfortable to even brush against the topic. 

Blackadder, meanwhile, didn't seem to talk to anyone else, as far as Kevin could see. Probably too busy plotting how to get out of getting sent back to waste time socialising with people he considered idiots. Now it wasn't his problem, wasn't his arse on the line if it blew up in Blackadder's face, Kevin found it funny to watch him slipping out of every constraint, breaking every rule that he felt shouldn't apply to him. Just like the snake of his name.

* * *

The doctor was clear and even put his most serious expression on to emphasize his point.

"You really should start walking longer distances. I understand you're concerned about your leg seizing up, but your physical therapy is going very well. It really can't hurt to walk more, it'll improve your recovery. Have you gone out into the grounds yet?" 

Kevin hadn't. It'd been wet and cold, and he'd been enjoying not being out in it after years in trenches and the draughty château. The hospital wasn't entirely wind-proof, but it was heated and didn't let in water. It was comfortable. He didn't fancy going out. 

"I've been waiting for the weather to clear up." The doctor stared at him silently, the judgement radiating off him. Kevin looked blankly ahead, tried not to sweat, to give in. The doctor broke before he did. 

"Captain Darling, this is England, not the Rivera. If you wait for that, you'll never go outside again. Beside, it'll blast the cobwebs right out of you. I feel you're being a bit of a hypochondriac now. You were very ill, I understand that, but you're already a lot better. It feels like you're not even trying to recover properly with all this hiding indoors." The accusation made him frown. He was not trying to hide indoors! He just didn't like wet weather. He'd experienced enough cold and wet weather without any protection from the elements to last him a lifetime. 

"I'm not hiding indoors! It's just that this wet weather makes my leg worse." 

"How on earth can you know that when you've not even been outside? Honestly Darling, you are being a terrible drip. That's my prescription for you, walking outside." The doctor wrote it down on a pad of paper with a flourish, tore it off and gave it to Kevin. It was completely unreadable. 

"Do I need to give this to anyone?"

"It's rhetorical." Although if Kevin gave it to the pharmacist saying it was a prescription for morphine, he'd probably get it without any questions asked.

"Understood. Can I go now?" For all the years he'd been working since he left it, he'd hardly thought about school. He wasn't one of the O.B. who showed up at every founder's day, boasted about playing rugger for his school (not that he'd ever played rugger), wore a school tie. He didn't even realise anyone did, until he'd met the public school prats in the army, all of who held the power of life and death over him. School had been a very long time ago and he was glad to be shot of it.

As soon as he was conscripted, however, he found being in the military was just like being back at school again. This doctor, for example, was as understanding as his old games master, Mr Fish. As in, not at all.

"Yes, yes, go on. Go for a walk! And for God's sake, don't spend the whole time moping either!" He scuttled out of the office before the doctor could change his mind about dismissing him. 

Such insistence meant that the good doctor would probably check with the nurses if he went out or not. No chance of skiving off, the nurses were relentless when it came to enforcing doctor's orders. Reluctantly he went back to his room to get his greatcoat, put on his real shoes for the first time since he'd arrived. He walked past a nurse towards the front door of the house with great purpose, the great strides he was taking only hampered by how stiff and sore his leg still was. The stick helped him down the hallway and out into the grounds.

It was bloody freezing. He turned up his coat collar, let out a sigh as he looked up at the looming grey clouds. Miserable weather. He'd turn straight back inside if he wasn't sure he would run straight into the doctor with his luck. Instead he turned away from the house, followed along the driveway into the parkland. The gardens at the back of the house were too exposed, too likely to run into someone if he dared to sit down for a break. 

The gravel crunched under his feet. The stiffness eased in his leg a little as he turned left, kept following the drive along until he glimpsed a pond through the trees. The quack of a duck in the distance drew his attention. It made him think of Sunday afternoons in Beddington Park feeding the ducks. Why not go and take a closer look? His footsteps were careful as he moved from the gravel to the wet grass, not wanting to slip on it. If he did, he'd fall. If he fell, he might not be able to get back up. 

The pond was quiet as he approached it. The cheep of a moorhen, darting among the reeds. The brown leaves on the ground. The drizzle suspended in the air, the misty silence. It felt like home. Like the country he'd recalled while on sentry duty during his very first winter on the front, with the bleak endless mud and the threat of snow in the air. 

Someone else was already there, he emerged into view as Kevin passed the last cluster of trees before the pond. He stood at the edge of the pond, just in front of him. Not using the old cast iron bench near the trees to sit on. Hands jammed into his coat pockets. Kevin didn't want to intrude, or more honestly, didn't want to be pulled into small talk with a stranger. He moved to turn but the other man turned to face him before he did. With the collar turned up just like his own, Kevin hadn't recognised him. 

"I really am destined to know no peace with you around. Is there anywhere you won't show up?" The challenge in Blackadder's words made him stop in his turn away, step forward instead to join him by the edge of the pond. 

"Perhaps you should try labelling the pond too?" 

"For such an odious bureaucrat, you don't seem to respect them. Ought to report it to whichever poor sod has you as his underling these days." Despite the insults Blackadder didn't move to leave as Kevin joined him. They stared at the pond instead, watched as a mallard duck clumsily landed on the water. Kevin leaned on his walking stick, his leg throbbing from the exertion. He hoped Blackadder wouldn't notice. Showing any sign of weakness in front of him would be a big mistake, he'd smell it like a shark smelling blood in the water.

"I'm nobody's underling here." 

"Oh? No wonder you look so lost all the time then. It must be terribly confusing to not have an arse to kiss." Was that a testing probe, to see if there was anything more to it? Kevin refused to show any weakness, shot back. 

"It's not as if you're so above it, Blackadder. Yes sir, no sir, will it get me back to England sir?" 

"It's survival, Darling. Unlike you, I take no pleasure in sucking up to a complete prat like Melchett." Kevin sneered but dropped the subject. The thought of Melchett was enough to bring his twitch back, and he'd got rather attached to not having it all the time now. In the woods behind them, a stag brayed. The only noise around them were of animals, of nature. It was peaceful, so quiet compared to where they'd both last been outside together. No Germans, no shelling, no screaming. 

"Strange how quiet it is here. I'm not used to being outside and not having someone trying to kill me." 

"If you miss it that much, I could always arrange it. Hell, throw in a few bob and I'll kill you myself." The threat was half-hearted, Blackadder not even bothering to meet his eyes to make it. Instead he looked up at the sky, watched a crow fly over them. "Still, it is a nice change to not be shot at. I could get quite used to it. In fact, I'm getting so used to it that I am absolutely, positively, not going to let them send me back. Even if I'm not resorting to faking a limp like you are."

"I'm not faking it!" God, he wished he was faking it with how his leg hurt right now. 

"Of course not." 

"What's your great plan then?" 

"Neuralgia." Kevin looked at him in disbelief. Blackadder, for a moment, seemed surprised before it vanished. He didn't feel any pride at catching him out, just disbelief that this was Blackadder's great plan.

"Neuralgia."

"Yes. With that and the scare stories about nightmares and hallucinations I've been sharing with the psychiatrist, I'll be discharged in no time." 

"Blackadder, men regularly get sent back to the front with neuralgia. That's not enough to get you off. You might as well throw in a limp too just so everyone's certain you're faking it." Before he would have enjoyed it, seeing Blackadder come up with a plan that was bound to fail. He might even drop him into it to make sure it failed completely. But now, hundreds of miles from the front-line, in the quiet English countryside, with no shelling, no destruction, just the birds and the two of them, he didn't enjoy it at all. 

"Watch and learn, Darling. I'll be out of here before you are with that fake limp." 

"It's still Captain Darling to you." Blackadder seemed convinced, but how often had he seen Blackadder look convinced before his plans all fell apart?

* * *

The withering stare of Sister Burnett at the door of the recreation room made him pause. That was his first mistake.

"Captain Darling, I believe you were told by the doctor to take regular walks." 

"Something like that, yes."

"I also believe that you haven't been out for a walk today." It might have sounded like a question from someone less formidable. 

"I was just going to get something and then go." He wasn't. He'd managed to borrow a detective novel off one of his room-mates and had planned to spend the afternoon reading it. Somehow, the way Nurse Burnett was staring at him said he wasn't going to get away with it. The nurses were ruthless when it came to enforcing doctor's orders. 

"I heard you had a nice long walk yesterday. It'd be a terrible shame to break the start of a good habit." It was cold and wet, he'd run into Blackadder, who while not as relentlessly unpleasant as he'd been in France, was still rude to him. Long? Yes, especially the walk back to the house which they'd spent arguing about what caused neuralgia, followed by complaints about how slowly he walked. Nice? No.

"My leg hurts."

"I'm sure a walk will clear that right up." No chance to worm out of it. Instead he found himself back outside again, his greatcoat pulled close to him, the drizzle damp on his face. He cursed the weather, the doctor, the nurses, the Germans who'd shot him, anyone else he could think of as his feet took him back to the pond again. 

It shouldn't have been a surprise to either of them to see each other again, but it was. Blackadder was standing by the edge of the pond, deep in thought until he saw Kevin.

"Oh god." Kevin considered turning back, before realising it'd be an admission of defeat. Usually that wouldn't bother him if it meant avoiding something unpleasant, but defeat to Blackadder wasn't something he could tolerate. He took his time crossing over the grass to the pond's edge, his walking stick leaving holes in the mush of grass and mud under his feet. 

The moorhen launched itself out of the reeds as he reached the pond, cheeped loudly as it swam across the pond before diving under the surface. Kevin watched the ripples it'd left on the surface of the pond spread out, fade until the water returned to its previous stillness. Blackadder sighed, crossed his arms as he turned to look at him. He looked irritated. Kevin would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy causing that irritation. 

"What do you want this time? If you want to argue with me, we can just do it at mealtimes. I think we see plenty of each other already."

"I was going on a walk. I like watching the birds." Kevin lifted his stick slightly, pointed at the moorhen re-emerging from its dive and swimming back to the reeds. Blackadder followed its path across the water, frowned. 

"So you're a bird spotter too. Are you actively trying to be the most boring man in Britain?" 

"Aren't you watching them too?" 

"No. I'm here to think, a concept that I realise might be novel to you." 

"Don't let me stop you. I'm sure it's very important." The sarcasm earned him a look, the kind of look that used to be followed by Blackadder turning away in disgust and leaving. Not today. Instead when he looked away, he stayed where he was. Just a couple of inches between them. The drizzle was starting to ease off, some of the clouds were drifting off eastwards and not being chased by yet more clouds. Enough of a break in the clouds that he could see gaps of blue sky reflected in the surface of the pond. He could follow the pattern of the clouds and let his eyes follow their drift reflected in the water as he shook his leg, trying to work the stiffness out of it. 

"You think it'll get you out of it?" The question wasn't sarcastic, despite every word in it indicating it probably should be. They weren't in the trenches, so they didn't have to pretend they wouldn't also scarper at the first opportunity they got. 

"I think it might." Blackadder nodded sagely but didn't look at him. If he had, it would have pushed him back into their old habits. It was easier to be honest when their eyes didn't meet. "I hope it will."

"Can't fault you on that. You'd be a lunatic to want to go back." A pause, unexpectedly pregnant, as if Blackadder was building up to something. "You really think the neuralgia is a bust?"

"Absolutely. I saw someone get sent back who really did have it." Poor sod. Stevens hadn't stood a chance. Didn't know how to turn the irrational bureaucracy to his advantage instead of having it used against him. The whole sad affair had made him even more determined to get a commission and get off the front-line. Nobody could save him apart from himself. 

"Hmm." It was a questioning sort of 'hmm'. Kevin felt the story stick in his throat. It'd stuck in his throat when he returned home on his next leave after it happened too, when Doris had asked him what was on his mind. Not the kind of story to share with his girlfriend, untouched by the depressing truth of war, that it was absolutely irrational. Stevens, a nice chap who was just trying to do his best, to serve his country while suffering from an incredible amount of pain, got accused of being a maligner and died two days after getting sent back. Their bloody pig officer's fault too. A pointless raid that didn't achieve a single thing, was just a chance for him to look like he'd done something. How could he explain it?

Oh. That was probably just the sort of situation Doris was thinking of when she said she didn't recognise the man he'd become. He'd never considered it like that before. Kevin pulled himself out of his thoughts, didn't want to think about Doris next to Blackadder. The man had a sixth sense for sniffing out weakness, it was best not to provide any bait. Blackadder looked at him, raised his eyebrows, almost inviting him to spit it out. It would be easy to say. Blackadder knew how it was, he'd been a soldier for donkey years. 

"He copped it two days after they sent him back."

"Ah. Unlucky with the doctor." He didn't ask for any further explanation. Blackadder understood, had seen the situation before. Kevin felt it again, the same feeling as when Blackadder, without a word, buried the hatchet between them when he'd been sent to his company to die. He'd seen then why someone could admire Blackadder, that maybe George wasn't just an idiot who'd admire a sausage on a stick if it was higher ranking than him. The commanding presence, the silent understanding. The unexpected calmness as he faced death, even after all the wriggling he'd done to try to escape it. Despite the circumstances, Kevin had, for a moment, trusted they'd get out of it.

They had. It struck him then, finally, that they had got out of it alive. His trust in Blackadder, in those final minutes together, wasn't misplaced, even if he couldn't remember what happened next. That trust had led him all the way here, to this pond in England, standing next to Blackadder, telling him a story that was stuck in him for years. 

"Yes, very unlucky." It wasn't much, but the three words held the weight of all he wasn't able to say. All the missteps, the bad luck that'd led a man to his death. 

"That's all there is to it in the end. Are you lucky that day or not?" They'd both been lucky that day. Exceptionally lucky. 

Blackadder wasn't a fool. He was probably thinking the same thing he was. What day would it be for them when luck wasn't on their side? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Would it be the day when someone in an office somewhere decided their fates?


	3. From someone will, to someone does

The next time Kevin went out on a walk, without the intervention of the nurses this time, they met in the hallway. Blackadder nearly walked into him as he exited his own room, recoiled like he'd just seen a dangerous, poisonous animal. 

"We really have to stop meeting like this, Darling. Someone might think we're friends." Kevin gave him a flat stare, managed to stop the twitch being called Darling like that caused, before he started walking. It wasn't worth replying to, but it'd look like giving up to not say something. 

"We both live here. Of course we're going to run into each other." 

"Constantly? Wherever I turn, there you are! I feel like I'm being pursued by one of those American heiresses, although that'd actually be enjoyable unlike this." Despite his complaints, Blackadder was still walking in the same direction as him. Even if he was pointedly walking a few steps ahead of him. 

"And they go for men with charm and manners, so I think you're very safe from them." That drew a laugh from him. A sarcastic one, but still, a laugh. 

"You'd be surprised. Some sweet words, a little dancing, tell her she's not like any woman you've ever met before, that you couldn't possibly live without her, and she'll be gagging for a bit of how's your father." Kevin grimaced as he followed Blackadder out through the front door.

"That's disgusting." He'd heard worse – much worse – but it was still disgusting. 

"Hmm, they never seem to think so." It sounded like boasting, even with the matter of fact way Blackadder said it, while looking up at the grey clouds above them. More rain on the way. "Still, can't all be putting our hopes in one woman like you are." It was the first time Blackadder had mentioned Doris. It felt like he was probing again, and Kevin stayed silent. The silence wouldn't be damning, not when they didn't have the kind of relationship where they talked about their personal lives. They just sniped at each other. They walked along the drive, the gravel wet under their feet, silence between them. His leg wasn't as stiff as it had been, hadn't seized up yet like he feared it would, but he was still slower with his stick. Blackadder didn't slow down, but didn't ditch him either. Always a few steps ahead of him. Kevin finally broke the silence as they turned to the direction of the pond. 

"If you do get discharged, what are you planning to do next?" Blackadder exhaled loudly through his nose, went 'hmm'. Unexpectedly, it looked like he was having to consider it. Kevin had assumed he already had a plan, just like he had one for getting out of going back. 

"Probably go to Piccadilly and chase some skirt." The answer sounded like what he should have expected. Kevin knew what the army before the war was like, how comfortably Blackadder had fitted into it, but it still sounded like he hadn't considered it seriously. "After that? I'm not sure. I've not been a civvy in a long time, but something will come up. Haig was a bust, but there's plenty of others who owe me favours." 

"Haig?" Blackadder knew Field Marshal Haig? He knew him and still got sent over the top? It seemed hard to believe. Blackadder scowled as they reached the pond again. 

"Bastard. I should have let that woman kill him with that sharpened mango." It sounded absurd. So unlikely and yet somehow possible, considering Blackadder's long service. Still, a mango? The laughter escaped him in an unrestrained burst. It felt good to laugh, Kevin hadn't properly laughed since he arrived here, hadn't had much cause to. When he stopped he caught Blackadder glancing away from him. He looked amused.

"Really, a mango?" 

"It was a different time. Much easier. If you knew not to ride a horse directly into a hail of bullets, you were the smartest man in your whole regiment." Blackadder continued and Kevin found himself listening. He'd heard a lot of war stories over the years, half of them incomprehensible nonsense from Melchett. This was different. It'd probably feed that ego of his, which didn't need it at all, but Blackadder's stories were actually, well, funny. Worth listening to. So he did.

* * *

The recreation room was empty as Kevin entered, and it reminded him what day it was. Wednesday. Of course. People either had visitors or went out so they didn't have to sit around being reminded that nobody was coming to see them. Usually he would have gone out too, but today he had physical therapy in the afternoon. His leg was improving but the limp wasn't gone. Kevin was resigned at this point to it staying. It'd keep him away from the front-line at least. 

He went over to the shelves, glanced through the magazines and books strewn on them. A couple of packs of playing cards, a chess board with most of its pieces, though one of the rooks' heads was snapped off. Kevin picked up one of the packs of cards, flicked through it and counted the cards were all still in there. 

He didn't get visitors. His parents tried to come but unless you were a soldier or goods, it was nearly impossible to get to Manchester. There was nobody else that keen to see him. Visiting days had at first been a torment, until he saw how many other men didn't get them either. With the struggles of trying to travel anywhere, only the local men got regular visitors. Still, visiting days had a wistful air to them. A brief glimpse of civvy street again. 

Might as well distract himself, he didn't have anything better to do. It was already starting to get dark outside, and he didn't take walks in the night. Not now, with his leg, when he didn't have to. Instead he sat down at one of the tables, shuffled the cards carefully and laid out a game of patience for himself. He enjoyed patience, the rhythm of it, all the cards ending up organised by suite and in numeric order. It felt tidy. 

Kevin turned over the first face down card. Jack of Spades. He turned each card over, his mind starting to focus on the rhythm of the game alone. Slowly the suites built up, the family started to form. He'd reached the Seven of Hearts, shuffled through the drawer again when the chair opposite him creaked as someone sat down. Kevin had a good idea who it was, kept shuffling through the cards to make him wait. 

"Really, patience? I didn't realise you were a granny. Not up for playing a real man's card game?" Kevin found an Eight of Clubs, considered if it'd be a good idea to put it on top or not, before looking up at Blackadder. 

"Have they declared that you've cracked yet?" It was flippant, but he knew Blackadder had been doing his therapy while he was working on his leg. After the day when they'd discussed Stevens at the pond, they had started meeting up every afternoon to go out on a walk together. Informally, without prior agreement, without looking like they were waiting for each other. With Blackadder still several steps ahead of him as they walked. They both breached the silence on it this morning, casually throwing out their respective therapy sessions in-between arguing about the editorial in The Telegraph that morning. Enough to postpone their walk without either side admitting they would have been waiting otherwise. 

"No. Getting there, though. He looked a bit nauseated when I described my latest nightmare, if I just keep it up he might send me home to not have to hear it."

"Or back to the front." 

"If he starts hinting at that, I'll start making threats to shoot everyone in my company."

"That won't get you out of it, you already did that." Kevin looked back to the cards, realised he probably wouldn't get any further with his game. 

"How about a real card game? Poker?" No chance. He'd never play poker against Blackadder, he'd lose all his valuables. 

"No. Pontoon?" 

"Fine. I'll deal." 

"Absolutely not." If Blackadder was the dealer, he'd use it to cheat. On the other hand, Kevin would only cheat if it was necessary. "I got the cards out, I'll deal." Kevin pulled the cards back into a pile, shuffled them as Blackadder moved his chair closer. He dealt the first set of cards. He felt confident. He could win this.

He didn't. 

Every single game, even when he resorted to cheating, Blackadder won. He always got an ace just in time to reach twenty one, threw them down on the table with delight. He must be cheating, but Kevin couldn't work out how. It was infuriating. 

"And the ace makes it twenty one." Blackadder smirked, before glancing to the three officers who'd come in and were watching their game closely as Kevin lost again. 

"You're good. I'll play you." Blackadder's smirk shifted into a grin. 

"Think you can challenge me? Fine, but I'll only play for stakes." He rubbed his fingers together. No matchsticks for Blackadder, just cool hard cash. The other officers looked confident as they agreed, clearly thinking that the problem was with him, not Blackadder. Kevin shut his eyes, considered if he had enough money to waste on this. Well, he might get lucky. 

"I'm in." The officers didn't say no, didn't object to someone who appeared to be lousy at pontoon joining in. Kevin shuffled the cards again as the other officers joined. Their confidence was clear in their high initial stakes, as if they were sure they'd keep them.

They didn't. The pile of coins next to Blackadder grew higher and higher as the rounds went on. It wasn't just aces now, whatever card Blackadder needed at that moment, it appeared. It was like Lady Luck had appeared and personally blessed him.

Possibly with a second set of cards he was palming in his sleeve. Kevin couldn't quite tell how he was doing it, but found his cheating funny as well as infuriating now. The growing annoyance of the other officers as Blackadder got even more smug, kept taking their money, even as his own meagre stakes got pulled in too. 

"Gambling!" The five men at the table looked up at the horrified voice. "How dare you! This is a place for healing, not a den of depravity!" Sister Burnett looked livid. Blackadder quickly pocketed the money and got up. 

"Gentlemen." A quick nod and Blackadder fled the room before any of them could get their money back. Another, younger nurse behind Sister Burnett looked in with amusement, that she quickly covered up before the older nurse saw her. The four remaining officers cleared up the cards with the angry eye of Sister Burnett on them, lecturing them on how gambling was an offence against God and that they were officers, gentlemen, who should be above such things. 

Kevin tried to slip out of the room without being noticed, difficult with his walking stick but he just about managed it. By the time she'd noticed him, he was out in the hallway. The other nurse ducked out of the recreation room, followed him out with a hand over her mouth to stop her giggling. She caught Kevin's eye, and he saw her eyes sparkle as she managed to smother her giggles enough to speak. 

"Oh, dear. It's always so funny when something sets her off, I can't help it. She keeps threatening to dismiss me for it. Ah, but that's not what I wanted to say to you!" Kevin blinked, wondered what on earth she could, in fact, want to say to him. "I just wanted to say, it's good to see Captain Blackadder finally made a friend. But tell him to watch out with the gambling, her church is completely against it. That and everything else fun." He saw her struggle to hold back her giggles again, until a voice boomed from the recreation room.

"Where are you, girl? Get back here!" 

"Must dash!" She darted back into the recreation room, left Kevin to walk back to his room in deep thought. Friends? It seemed strange that someone would think they were, considering how they wound each other up and argued all the time. How much they'd hated each other before. 

Still, they were spending a lot of time together. Saw a lot of each other. Maybe they were friends. Strange, argumentative friends that still felt like rivals, but friends. Blackadder would be furious at the thought. He'd be even more furious that other people were starting to think it, but as Kevin sat down on his bed, lit up a cigarette, the thought, now that he'd got used to it, didn't make him feel furious at all. He inhaled, then blew out the smoke and watched it drift up to the ceiling. Friends. Yes, he guessed they were. Not like the other friends he'd had, but still, friends. How unexpected.

* * *

The clerk in the hospital's office looked up at him when he entered with a look that didn't bode well. It was the look of a man tired of telling people bad news repeatedly. Kevin recognised it, had seen a similar expression on his own face before. 

"You here about your Christmas leave?" 

"Yes."

"Name?"

"Captain Kevin Darling." The clerk sighed as he picked up the list next to him, as if he was being unreasonable about requesting leave. He was not! He'd filled his form in correctly, had requested a reasonable number of days, not a week, even remembered to tick the box at the end that everyone else forgot. The clerk scanned down the list, paused and clicked his tongue. 

"Sorry, it was refused. No reason next to it, mind. Not married?"

"No."

"That'd be why then. They're prioritising the married men with children for Christmas. They're only allowing a small number of men out this year." Kevin had expected it but that still didn't stop the disappointment. Spending Christmas in the hospital would be better than spending it at the front, but nowhere near as good as spending it at home. 

"Can I have form LF-34?" The clerk put the list down, went back to what he was doing before Kevin walked in. 

"I wouldn't bother. Orders from the top, you know." Kevin held out his hand for it anyway, got another sigh in response. He kept his hand out until the clerk gave in and passed him the form. "You're wasting your time." 

If Kevin was that easily put off by the sighing of one lone clerk, he never would have made it this far. Orders from the top! As if that would stop him. He knew how to fill in an appeal against denial of leave form, he would show this junior how a true master worked. Kevin left the office, holding on tightly to the form and plotting. If he did it now, he could get the appeal into this afternoon's post and improve his odds of getting it reviewed before Christmas. He had three days. A push, but doable. 

He entered the visiting room, the former front reception room of the house. It was Thursday, the room was empty. He put the form down on the round walnut table, the table closest to the large windows that looked out onto the front of the house and the end of the long drive. Kevin didn't come in here often, took a moment to admire the decor. All the paintings were still up in here, unlike in the converted bedrooms, and the original furniture too. None of the cheap tables used in the mess and recreation room here. 

Footsteps on the gravel of the drive drew closer, followed by shouting. Kevin turned to look out of the window, saw a group of officers carrying a potted fir that was at least six foot tall between them. The officers put the tree down, turned to argue with someone on the other side of the fir tree, before they started to argue with each other too. 

A Christmas tree? Where did that come from? It looked like one of the potted ones from the garden behind the house. Through the glass he couldn't hear the words, just the noise of shouting. From the exasperation on their faces, it seemed that the organisation of the tree carrying was not going as planned. At this angle, he couldn't be seen from outside, obscured by the tied back red velvet curtains, so Kevin continued to watch. 

The tree was lifted back up again, and the officers struggled along with it, towards the steps. As the tree moved past the windows, Kevin saw Blackadder several steps behind it, berating them even if he couldn't make out the words. He recognised that expression. If he was leading the efforts, that explained why it'd quickly devolved into everyone shouting at each other. That happened a lot when Blackadder was around. As the other officers lifted the tree up the steps, he saw Blackadder sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose before walking over to follow them. 

He glanced over to the form, decided to leave it for a bit longer to watch them attempt to get the tree in through the front door. More shouting, waving of arms, the pot nearly got dropped onto someone's foot because one officer dropped it to start arguing again. It was chaos, very funny chaos that he was deeply enjoying watching. Blackadder looked exasperated as he followed them into the house, and the sounds of arguing drifted in from the hallway as they finally managed to get it over the threshold. 

"Now turn to your left – left! No, that's your right, you nitwit! If this is the best the British Army can provide, no wonder we're in such a state." Kevin heard the pot thump to the ground, the addressee taking great exception to Blackadder's insults. "Don't put it down! I've seen French soldiers follow orders better than you." More arguing, before the tree appeared in the doorway of the front room. "She said she wanted it by the windows." Kevin picked up his form, moved to the back of the room as the struggling officers carried the tree in before finally putting it down. They paused, took a moment to catch their breath before one of them turned to give Blackadder a glare. 

"You have to admit Reggie, you were turning right." 

"Oh, shut up." It was enough to deflate the tension, and the other officers left the room. Blackadder sighed again, shook his head before he spotted Kevin on the other side of the room. 

"Ah, of course." It was mild, more of an acknowledgement at this point. Kevin walked back over to the windows, stopped to take a look at the tree from the opposite side of it from Blackadder. 

"How did you get roped into that?" 

"One of the busybody nurses gang-pressed me into it. By order of the lady of the house, apparently. She thought it'd 'look jolly nice and would cheer up the men'." Blackadder looked up into the needles with scorn. "I don't know why she'd think I'd rather have a tree with a dangerous amount of candles on it that's likely to catch fire and burn this whole place down than my leave, but that's aristocrats for you." 

"Yes, it is a bit dry." Kevin reached out to touch one of the needles, rubbed it between his fingers. It gave off that fresh smell that always made him think of Christmas. "You got your leave turned down too then." 

"I'm hopping. I wanted to go to London and get absolutely rat-arsed."

"Apparently it's only married men who get leave this year." Kevin looked across from the needle in his fingers to Blackadder, who seemed to be receiving his statement as new information. Infuriating information.

"That's not what that bastard said to me. If I'd known that, I would have gone and popped the question to one of the nurses to get out of here." 

"What did he tell you?" There was a pause, and Blackadder pulled one of the needles off the tree. 

"Apparently the psychiatrist and the real doctor agree that I'm too dangerous to let out in public." Kevin snorted in laughter, which earned him a scowl. 

"Yes, that's the problem when you act like you're crazy. People start to believe it."

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

"Careful now, Blackadder. I might go tell the doctors you said that." The amusement leaked into his voice and expression. He didn't say 'I told you so' but he was thinking it loudly. Loudly enough for Blackadder, completely unappreciative of the fact he'd been proven right, to pick up on it and glare at him. 

He could probably help Blackadder get out of the hole he'd dug himself into. But after he'd finished being smug about being right, of course.

* * *

Christmas arrived, and with his appeal returned with no comment but a DENIED stamp on it, Kevin was at the hospital for it. He tried to be optimistic. He was at least in England this year, not receiving the warmest presents the German military could give him. Next year he wouldn't be at the front-line again, might even be at home for Christmas. 

It didn't stick. It was hard to be optimistic for the third Christmas at war when they'd declared it'd all be over by the first one. The war could easily drag on for another year at least, might get desperate enough that he'd be returned to action, even with a limp. The closest he'd heard to optimism was from Lady so-and-so, when she addressed them on Christmas Eve and he'd pretended to pay attention to it. It was a brave show, especially since it was her son out there on the front this year instead of them. 

As they were dismissed Blackadder caught his eye, and though the sun was already setting, he joined him on a late walk. The cold air, the starlings in their murmuration against the sunlight. The fading light. They walked slowly, Kevin focused more on the ground than conversation. An unexpected rabbit hole would be trouble. 

"It's hard to believe, isn't it? Three bloody years, and it's still going. Still, could be worse. It could be us getting shot at instead of some other sods." A strange kind of positive thinking, really, but it made Kevin smile. It could definitely be worse, he couldn't lose sight of that. 

And 'us'. Not 'me' but 'us'. Kevin was included in that small circle of people considered by Blackadder to be alright, if only for this brief time before they were discharged.

"Yes. Honestly, I'm so glad I'm not going to be woken up by shelling tomorrow." 

"Haig making sure nobody gets any clever ideas about Christmas truces again. God help us if the Tommies realise that the Fritz are people too, they might want to call it off." The murmuration grew above them, the starlings crying out as they joined the flock. What a sight. There were birds in no-man's-land, but no flocks like this. It lightened Kevin's heart as they turned towards the pond, once again. France seemed far away. Even the ripples of the war they could feel here, surrounded by the causalities of it, felt distant. 

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Blackadder grinned.

"An old friend of mine came through with a bottle of whisky as my Christmas present. Bugger what those nurses say, I'm getting loaded." Blackadder paused. Kevin felt hopeful, even if it wouldn't be out of character for Blackadder to drink the whole thing alone. "If you bring something to eat, I might let you have some." 

"My sister sent some biscuits. Real ones." Blackadder's eyes lit up and relief swelled in Kevin. He hadn't wanted to spend Christmas alone, even in the peace of the hospital. "When?" 

"After lunch. They'll go off for a spot of God-bothering and leave us alone."

* * *

The plan, for once, worked perfectly. After lunch, the nurses went to church, and any soldiers who didn't want to get roped into going along hid. It was a risk, hiding in the house instead of sneaking out into the grounds like everyone else was, but it paid off. When the nurses went, with just the ones on the ward upstairs left, they had the room Blackadder shared all to themselves. 

"See? Just as I planned." Blackadder finished pouring the whisky into a tin mug, passed it to Kevin before taking the bottle and taking a swig from it. If it was striking a claim, it was foolish. The whisky would kill any of the germs, even if he wasn't used to such disgusting personal habits. Kevin held up his mug, offered it in a toast which Blackadder met with the bottle. "Cheers. Here's to another sodding Christmas." Kevin drank a mouthful of the whisky. It was smooth, didn't taste like burning or like it'd been distilled in a tin helmet. 

"That's incredible."

"Isn't it? Hamish is a very generous friend." Kevin put the mug down on the bed, took out his packet of cigarettes and lit up. "Pass us one." Kevin didn't quibble it, passed over one and his matches too. Kevin watched as Blackadder put the cigarette in his mouth, struck the match with a smooth gesture to light it up. The slow, first inhale as he shook the match out, put it on the bedside cabinet. The line between watching and staring blurred, and it made Kevin look away, towards the window. 

They sat on the bed together, the silence sinking over them as they smoked. Not the first Christmas he'd spent in close quarters drinking and smoking like this, though in the past there'd always been the sounds of total war in the background of the celebration. Not today. Just the wind rattling the sash windows. It felt calmer too, didn't have that manic, desperate edge to it. There was going to be a tomorrow for them, and another week. It was after that which was uncertain. 

Kevin's eyes wandered over to the collection of Christmas cards on the bed next to Blackadder's. It looked like there were at least fifty there, far more than he'd received. Or Blackadder had.

"Looks like someone's very popular." Blackadder blinked, followed Kevin's gaze to the collection of cards.

"Oh, Walsh. All of his sister's friends and half the women in Herefordshire are all in love with him, as far as I can tell. Man's going to drown in women if he gets out of this. Most of them have at least three surnames and Somerset as a dowry." Kevin tried to imagine what it'd be like, to have so many women pursuing him. Or any woman pursuing him. He'd done all the pursuing with Doris, and his sister's friends had all been, well, annoying schoolgirls who'd all grown up to become annoying housewives. If any of them started sending him Christmas cards it'd be concerning. 

"Is he rich? Good looking?" There was a quirk to Blackadder's mouth, before he blew out more smoke. 

"He's not badly off, but not filthy rich. Good looking, well, I guess so? A little bland, but he's got good manners. And sense, which is a bloody miracle considering he went to Eton." Kevin laughed. 

"Did you know before the war, I thought people got into public schools because they were intelligent? I thought it was based on merit." 

"Really? I've met gym mats smarter than most of them." 

"Still, all that unearned superiority makes them willing to believe anything that flatters them." He'd expected to feel inferior to them, from how he'd seen them portrayed before the war. The wise, superior men who ran the country. Encountering the reality of them being complete prats was a shock, one he'd quickly scrambled over and then used to his advantage. If they were vain idiots, it meant he could use them and get away with it. It had worked, for the most part. 

"Yes, a bit of arse kissing does keep them happy." Blackadder took another swig from the bottle and Kevin followed him with another drink from his mug. "I went to Dulwich, you know."

"Really?" Blackadder didn't strike him as a former public school boy. He was intelligent, but had smarts and ruthlessness with it, the kind of someone who'd had to claw his way up. Maybe a grammar school oink like him. 

"Well, my father helped me cheat so I'd get a scholarship. And then they kicked me out in my fifth year. Honestly, what's a little fraud between friends? The headmaster didn't see it that way, said I was a disgrace to all gentlemen and it was the final straw after...well, everything." 

"Is that how you ended up in the army?" 

"Yup. Father couldn't get rid of me fast enough. He thought if I got packed off to Africa I'd be less of a disgrace, or at least a disgrace on another continent." 

"Ashamed of you?"

"Yes, but only because I got caught. 'Blackadders don't get caught, that's why we're successful', then the whole spiel about the illustrious lords and princes of my ancestry." Kevin tried to imagine it, found it difficult to. It was so far away from his own experience. From the experience of anyone he'd met before either. 

"I can't imagine my father saying that."

"Your family does seem very boring. That's one thing my father wasn't. I just wish he hadn't done so much fraud, he might have got away with one bank collapsing. Five was pushing it. Still, quite a surprise when it turned out he'd faked his own death to get out of prison. We only found out when he really died in St. Petersburg in 1904, bigamously married to a Russian heiress notorious for both her incredible beauty and incredible stacks of money." 

"You're joking?" It seemed like a joke, the kind of thing that Blackadder would say in a deadpan manner to catch the credulous. 

"No, surprisingly. My father was a complete bastard, yet I can't help but admire his ambition. Never a dull moment, that's for sure." Blackadder looked nostalgic, which seemed like a strange reaction to Kevin to his father being a bigamous fraudster who'd faked his own death to ditch his family. He couldn't dispute that his family was boring in comparison though. Most families were. "Besides, I can't blame him. If you'd been married to my mother, you would have faked your own death to get out of it too." Kevin glanced over to the Christmas cards by Blackadder's bed, the few of them there, even compared to someone less popular than Walsh. Blackadder saw where he was looking and gave him a curious look. "You won't see one from her, she died before the war. No, I'm afraid I'm an orphan. The last of my line. For now." 

It wasn't what Kevin was looking for. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. He knew Blackadder didn't have a sweetheart back home, didn't seem to be interested in acquiring one. Maybe some sort of other sign, but for what, exactly, he didn't know. Blackadder stubbed out the end of his cigarette in the small dish he'd borrowed from the mess. 

"Are your parents happily married, Darling?" The question surprised him, too much to object to Blackadder using his surname like that again to annoy him as he fumbled with his cigarette before stubbing it out too.

"I think so. They don't fight all the time." 

"Was your father the first man your mother walked out with?" The turn was unexpected and made him frown. Blackadder had already dismissed his family as boring, so why was he asking? What did he want from it? It felt like a trap, the kind he hadn't had laid out for him by Blackadder in a long time. It made him cautious. 

"As far as I know. Why are you asking? What are you up to?" It came out cagey, like he always used to be with Blackadder. Blackadder seemed as unconcerned by it as he was back then, too. 

"Just confirming my suspicions. You put all your hopes into Doris because that's what you think you should do, marry the first woman who ever looks your way. So when Doris dumped you-"

"How do you know-" Blackadder held up a finger to cut him off.

"So when she dumped you, you moped for months because you thought you were done for. Honestly, Freud would have a field day with a neurotic mess like you." The insult bounced off him, the big question was consuming him instead. How long had Blackadder known? How had he found out? He felt frantic, exposed. Nobody else had confronted him directly on it, it'd all been subtle illusions to it, insinuations. Blackadder was the only person who'd said anything up front, and then immediately insulted him about it too.

"How did you know?" 

"Well, I've had my suspicions for a while. You strike me as the sort who'd have her photograph up by your bed if it was all fine and dandy, but you don't. You've not mentioned her once, even when being mocked about being a failure with women-"

"By you!" Exclusively by him. Nobody else even mentioned it. 

"Yes, okay, by me. She hasn't even tried to visit you too. The final thing that confirmed it, that you hadn't just become private instead, was she didn't send you a single thing for Christmas. Nobody's girlfriend is that cruel. Even if they're with a twerp like you." Kevin sighed, ran his hands down his face. His weakness was fully exposed to Blackadder's relentless mockery, just like he'd feared. Too late to deny it, the proof was too damning. His embarrassment and shame shifted to anger, anger at being caught, at Blackadder being so smug about catching him. Irrational anger that made him burst instead of sensibly pulling back.

"Fine! She left me! She sent the letter to me on the day we went over the top, saying I'd changed and she didn't love me any longer. Said I'd be happier with someone else who loved me as I am now. I read it the day after I sent her a letter proposing to her from here, that a nurse wrote for me because I was too sick to do it myself." His anger vanished as soon as he said it, replaced immediately with severe regret. He covered his face with his hands. Oh, fuck. He'd just told Blackadder about the most humiliating moment of his life. He'd never live this down. He was done for. 

There was silence between them. He expected mockery, insults. He probably deserved them. Instead silence. The silence drew out, sinking him deeper into despair, until he felt a cigarette poked between his lips in the gap between his hands. He parted them in shock, felt even more shocked when he heard the match strike and Blackadder lit the cigarette up for him. 

This was kind. In response to the most embarrassing moment of his life, Blackadder was being, well, kind. He couldn't have shocked him more if he'd taken all his clothes off, put on a tutu and declared himself Bishop of Winchester. He inhaled deeply, felt the rush of nicotine surge through him and calm him down. 

"You really think any woman worth spending your life with would write you a letter like that? Forget her. She's not worth moping over. You're an absolute prat, don't get me wrong, but do you really trust the judgement of a woman who wrote you a bollocks-filled letter like that instead of doing the honourable thing and telling you in person? You'd be even more of an idiot to write yourself off permanently because of her." Kevin lifted his hands up from his face and looked at Blackadder in a daze. 

He looked honest. Sincere, even. Blackadder looked like he had when he'd asked him how he was doing before they went over the top. At that same time, Doris was writing her letter to him. Strange to think he'd been kinder to him at that exact moment than the woman he thought he was going to marry was. 

"But the limp-"

"Oh, god. Your limp is the least of your problems. I'd be more worried about your personality and love of Charlie Chaplin." Blackadder reached out, gave him two light taps on the cheek before going back to his bottle. The warmth of his hand lingered on his cheek. "No, you've got so many problems that frankly, I doubt they'll even get around to the limp. Still, I'm sure there's some woman out there barmy enough to marry you and not make your life hell afterwards." Kevin blew out more smoke, let his gaze drift into the middle distance as he considered what just happened. 

He hadn't expected to have a heart to heart. As far as he was concerned, Blackadder was the last person on earth he should do such a thing with. But here he was. It'd even turned out better than he ever could have expected. Amongst the insults, the devastating precision which he'd pinned him down with and forced him to come clean, Blackadder had been kind. In his weird, sarcastic way.

"Thank you."

"Don't get mushy on me, it makes me sick. Finish your drink." Kevin was happy to take the direction, change the subject, and downed it. The burn of the whisky in his throat felt refreshing in the same way as their conversation did.


	4. So tell me how long before the last one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new beginnings. Also the smut starts here.

The new year when it arrived was greeted with mixed feelings. No big declarations that this would be it, the year where it finally ended. Maybe a little hope as the Americans started to trickle into the war. It was discussed in low voices, none of the cheery optimism as beloved in the reports of the army's morale in the newspapers. 

Kevin had seen too many hopes for a turn in the tide to believe it. Blackadder was scathing. 

"I'm sure they'll be gagging to introduce the yanks to our best time-honoured tactic: walk very slowly across no-man's land towards the German machine guns. They might even agree that it's a good idea."

"The Germans wouldn't be expecting it." Not that it made it a good idea.

"No, but they'll be hoping for it. More importantly, why are they making us do this?" 

"No idea. Maybe they're trying to make some money off it?" All the patients were forcibly gathered together on the steps to the house for a group photograph, to celebrate the arrival of 1918. They both tried to sneak off, in different directions, got caught and steered back to not offend their earnest patron who was letting the army use her house. Lady so-and-so clapped her hands to get their attention.

"Now gentlemen, make sure you look at the camera! You'll all be receiving a copy of the postcard, so you'll want to look your best."

"This feels like school." Kevin commented in an aside as they were shuffled along the row to force a latecomer who'd nearly got out of it into the shot. They'd been too late to be at the back, but early enough to not get stuck at the front. "I'm waiting for someone to stick their tongue out and ruin the whole photograph."

"Hmm. I'll pay you two bob if you do." Kevin considered it. He'd always been tempted to do it at school, an irrational urge that he'd always pushed down. Never been popular enough to get dared into it either. The call from the photographer came before he could take it up. 

"On the count of three, gentlemen. One, two, three!" The burst of light as the flash bulb popped blinded him for a moment before the world slowly returned, much darker than it usually was. "Thank you!" 

"Do they really think anyone will pay for a postcard with your ugly mug on it?" Blackadder asked as their row shuffled along to get back off the steps. Kevin rolled his eyes. 

"I doubt anyone will be buying it for your face, Blackadder."

"I think you'd be surprised. I'm irresistible." Blackadder opened his hand like an unfolding flower as he gestured to his face, as if the gesture combined with his face was somehow irresistible and Kevin would be bowed over by it. The dramatic nature of it made Kevin squint at him, as if he'd put pants on his head again, before responding with a dramatic widening of his eyes.

"My god, you've cracked for real." His hand dropped in irritation. 

"Shut up." The put-down made Kevin laugh as they went back inside the house.

* * *

It was nearly time for the afternoon post to be collected, but Kevin lingered. He tipped the postcard back and forth in his fingers, waving it as if the ink wasn't already dry on the back. The brief greetings on the back for his parents, best wishes to them and assorted relatives, all that stuff. He stopped waving it, took another look at the photograph on the front. 

As photographs of him went, it wasn't too bad. He'd managed not to blink so his eyes were open, unlike several other men on it. It wasn't a patch on the ones his mother had insisted on before he was shipped off to France, all smart and terribly young in his uniform despite his actual age, that she'd kept to boast about him with. He'd given one of the photographs in that set to Doris to remember him by when he was away, the photograph reflected how he wanted to be remembered. He didn't look like that now, would never look like that again. The thought didn't make him sink into despair this time. Kevin was starting to accept that he couldn't go back. It was done. He had to find a different future. 

His eyes moved to Blackadder, standing next to him in the photograph. His expression was sharp, stared straight back out of the photograph with a challenge. As if he was plotting against the photographer, was just about to enact a scheme that'd end up with him on top and the photographer's life ruined. In France, if someone had asked him to visualise Blackadder, he would have imagined him with that expression. After asking that person if they were a lunatic and why they wanted him to think about Blackadder, of course. It would have been infuriating to think of back then, not enough to spoil his day by itself but enough to ruin a good mood. 

Kevin shut his eyes and tried the exercise out now. He didn't see that expression in his mind this time. He saw Blackadder as he was on one of their walks, when they stopped by the pond and watched it for a while. If left alone in silence for a while on their walks, his expression would shift, from bored, or challenging, or smug, or studiedly neutral. He would look thoughtful, but not scheming. Kevin recalled his dark eyes glancing up as a bird flew overhead. Not that cunning Captain Blackadder, filled with insults, mockery and plots. Someone else, who Kevin didn't know before. Someone he caught glimpses of on occasion now, when Blackadder thought he wasn't looking. 

'What are you looking at, you twerp?' He'd looked away at that, thrown another insult back. The look had shifted again, not to the git he knew Blackadder could still be – as his feud with his doctors proved – but someone more reserved. Closer to his usual self than the man looking out at the pond. 

Kevin opened his eyes and frowned. He wasn't sure what to make of that particular train of thought as he looked down at the postcard again. It was stamped, written, ready to post, but Kevin found himself not wanting to part with it. He shook himself, picked up his walking stick and took himself forcibly to the office. The wooden box for the post was in there and he posted it through the slot to the noise of typewriters, of the clerk finishing off a phone call. 

There, done. It was on its way to where it should go. No more mawkish feelings. He turned to go but paused at the clerk's desk as he hung the phone up. He should walk out, like he intended to. He didn't. 

"Do you have any copies of the New Year's postcard left?" 

"Halfpenny." The clerk didn't question it and turned to a drawer behind him with a bored air. The fugitive feeling grew as he got his money out, even with the complete indifference of the clerk. He put the coin down on the desk before the clerk turned around and gave him the postcard with no interest at all. He stashed the postcard in his pocket before anyone else could see it and left the office in a hurry. It felt like a secret, like it wasn't something he should have on him. Kevin knew nobody else would think anything of it, that he was overreacting as he sneaked back into his room. He knew he was being ridiculous as he ducked down to get his tin out of his bag, but it didn't help the feeling that he should absolutely not get caught with it. 

No, there was someone who'd think something of it. That was why he was so worried. He paused, the tobacco tin out on his bed, waiting for him. The painting of the South Downs still on the lid. He touched the painting lightly, before slowly pulling the postcard out of his pocket.

Blackadder stared back at him, from where he was standing by his side. Accusatory, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. That sharp expression on his face, confirmation that he never missed a single thing. He opened the tin, shoved the postcard on top, took one last look at it before closing the lid. The two of them together. Over the old photograph of Doris.

* * *

There was ice on the windows, frost on the trees and bushes and Kevin woke up shivering. The turn to the height of winter took him by surprise, made him layer up and plan to stay indoors. The cold made his leg ache, the wind would make the rest of him ache too. It'd be much better to stay inside, by the warmth of the coal fire in the recreation room. 

Or at least, it would be if everyone else didn't have the very same idea. Every patient on the floor seemed to be huddled around the fire, determined to stay there. He'd arrived too late to get close to it, found himself out on the edges. It felt like Siberia, both in temperature and socially. He considered if he should concede, maybe see if he try and sneak into another room with a fire and looked over to the door as he thought it through. Kevin caught Blackadder peering in through the door, who leaned away out of view as soon as he caught his eye. 

Curious. Kevin got up, followed him out into the hallway. Despite the weather, Blackadder looked ready to go for a walk. One feature was particularly curious.

"Where on earth did you get that scarf?" Blackadder scowled. It wasn't even a mocking question, Kevin was genuinely curious. It was the most hideous scarf he'd ever seen. Puce, lime green, a particularly dirty brown and yellow, knitted in such a ropey manner it looked like it'd been made out of abandoned fishing nets. "Was it from a charity? The Guild of Colour-blind and Untalented Women supporting our brave boys?" Okay, perhaps a little mocking. It was staggeringly hideous. 

"Once I had two scarves. One was a nice tartan one, and one I was saving to burn when it got cold enough that I wouldn't have to listen to Baldrick mope about it, as it's illegal these days to kill your privates – thank you, Cardwell. Guess which one someone nicked this morning?" 

"Really, it's quite charming. I thought they would have gone for it." Blackadder screwed up his face, before giving him a shove.

"Go put your coat on before I do to you what I'll do to them when I find them." Kevin opened his mouth to protest but was cut off before he could say a single word. "None of that 'it's too cold' rubbish either. You've still got a proper scarf." 

"You went and checked?"

"Purely in case you were the thief, in which case I could get all the embarrassing letters you're saving from Doris to read out in front of everyone at dinner in revenge." Kevin's eyes twitched. His scarf was in his bag, along with his old tobacco tin. The letters from Doris, which he still hadn't got rid of, were in the tin along with his other letters, his diary and that postcard. Had Blackadder dug through it? "Hah, thought as much. You're a fool, Darling. Now I know that you did save them." Kevin didn't let out a sigh of relief, as much as he felt it. Blackadder going through the rest of his belongings still wasn't great.

"If you go through my property again I'll report you as a thief." 

"Oooh, touchy!" Blackadder dug into the pocket of his greatcoat, rooted around in it and pulled something out like a particularly lousy amateur magician pulling out a disappointing chain of handkerchiefs. Wait! That was his scarf! It was rather boring, a plain red one his sister had knitted for him. Kevin snatched it out of his hands. 

"You were trying to steal mine! You bastard, I could get you shot for this." Well, he probably couldn't now and probably wouldn't want to, either, but he let the threat stand. He crossly folded the scarf in half, put it around his neck before pulling the ends through the loop to tie a knot. Once it was neatly done he glared at Blackadder, who didn't look sorry in the slightest and hadn't bothered to tie his own scarf anywhere near as neatly. It wouldn't have helped it.

"Less threats, more walking." Kevin got his coat and shoes despite his misgivings, followed Blackadder out into the grounds of the house. It was every bit as cold as he'd feared. He pushed his free hand deep into his coat pocket to keep it warm. The hand on his stick was going to freeze. As always, Blackadder was a couple of steps ahead of him as they walked down the drive. The sun gave off a watery, distant kind of light, not strong enough to warm up the day at all.

They turned left, towards the pond, and Kevin slipped on the black ice under his feet. The slide was immediate, the sudden, awkward weight thrown onto his right leg sent pain rocketing up from his injury as he felt himself go over and his walking stick crashed to the ground. He reached out and grabbed at Blackadder as he fell. 

It all took two seconds, if that. Kevin expected to fall, to find himself flat on his face, scratched up from the gravel. He hoped he didn't twist his ankle on top of aggravating his leg injury on the way down. 

He didn't. His face was smashed up against something else instead, something that was warm if a little scratchy. It took him a moment to realise what he was pressed up so tightly against. Blackadder's chest. His hands tightly holding onto Blackadder's coat to not fall. 

An arm held onto his back tightly, stopped him from falling, held him upright even as Blackadder staggered from the impact. The other arm joined it, supporting him as he let go of Blackadder, tried to get back onto his feet and back away in a panic. He slipped again on the ice, crashed back into Blackadder. His grip didn't loosen, he held tight onto him even as Kevin made him stagger again.

"Stop moving, you idiot, or I'll give you something to really sag off with!" The bark stopped his struggling and made him concede to the reality that Blackadder was holding him. His hands clung onto Blackadder's coat again to help keep himself upright. It was embarrassing how clumsy he was, that he was being enough of a clod to require a rescue. Embarrassing how being pressed up against Blackadder's chest, secure in his grip, made him feel overwhelmed. Much more so than the orderly's fingers in his hair. The need for human contact, to be touched, the yearning that he ignored because there wasn't an outlet for it, nobody who'd want to touch him like Doris had. It surged through him. It made his cheeks burn. 

Blackadder was only just trying to help him, too. What on earth was wrong with him? It was crazy to feel like this. He still didn't want him to let go. It felt like being a person, to have someone else touch him. Even if it was just to stop him falling flat on his face.

Slowly, Blackadder started to shuffle them along, away from the patch of black ice. The movement brought a sharp pain shooting up his leg, made him hiss against Blackadder's chest, caught up in the wool of his coat. It smelt of smoke, of cologne, of Blackadder. It didn't smell of trench at all. He gritted his teeth, kept shuffling his feet as he hid his face in Blackadder's coat. They stopped. He felt the vibration of Blackadder clearing his throat as much as he heard it.

"Let go of me." Kevin let go with a start, straightened up in a panic that would have made the top of his head clatter right into Blackadder's jaw if he hadn't moved back in time. The expected berating didn't come. Instead Blackadder's arms dropped from around him as he turned away, crouched down to pick something up. His stick. He got back up, handed it to Kevin without making eye contact. 

The embarrassment coursed through him as he took it, as well as the pain from his leg. Oh, god. He'd hung onto Blackadder for far longer than was reasonable, had felt overwhelmed from Blackadder touching him. It was absolutely pathetic. He turned away, tried to take a few steps. Each little movement made his leg ache.

"I can't go on. I'll go back to the house." It sounded like an excuse, even if it wasn't. It was convenient, and the pain wasn't as bad as it had been before. As it would have been if he'd been allowed to fall on his face. As he started to shuffle his way back to the house, carefully avoiding the black ice this time, he expected Blackadder to turn away. No reason for him to end his walk just because he'd been an idiot. He heard the deep sigh behind him, the crunch of footsteps behind him. He didn't think anything of it until the footsteps caught up to him. Blackadder didn't go back on his own walk, didn't march off in front of him like he usually did. Instead he walked alongside him, matching his pace. 

Even in his lingering embarrassment, trying to forget about feeling overwhelmed, how much that touch meant to him in that moment, he gave Blackadder a curious look. He gave him a side glance then shrugged and looked away.

"The nurses would blame me if you got injured walking back by yourself. I'm already in enough hot water with the bloody quacks. If the nurses turn on me too, I'm done for." Ah. Self-preservation. That was natural, it was Blackadder after all. He nodded, didn't probe it any further. Kevin didn't want to ask any questions, and from the silence that followed as they walked back, neither did Blackadder.

* * *

Kevin decided to spend the following day in bed. He had the perfect excuse for it too. The nurses had been as concerned as Blackadder had suggested they would be when he returned and was delivered into their care. Blackadder fled as soon as they got back, hadn't even stuck around for the praise that one of the nurses was willing to shower on him. Very unusual for him not to stick around for praise. There were some concerns that he'd pulled a muscle, enough to allow him to decide he didn't want to leave his bed as everyone else got ready for breakfast.

It didn't hurt that badly. He probably could have got out of bed, if he really wanted to. The ice on the window said he didn't want to. The nurse sent to check on him was slightly concerned, took his temperature just in case it was something more serious. 

"No temperature. It's just your leg hurting?" He nodded. "Make sure you stretch it, give it a bit of a rub. We'll get you fully checked out tomorrow." By tomorrow it'd probably be fine, but Kevin didn't argue it. He accepted the sympathy, and the light breakfast he'd been brought in bed as a one-off. It was nice to be fussed over and be well enough to appreciate it. On the ward he'd been far too sick to get any enjoyment out of it. This was much better.

The day drew on. Kevin started the book he'd borrowed, another detective story. It didn't grab him, it felt overly familiar. Had he read it before? He couldn't remember, which wasn't a good sign. He shut it, glanced out of the window with the ice on it finally melted. Still too early for lunch, for the walks they took after it. Would Blackadder notice he wasn't there? Would he care?

It didn't matter, he told himself, and sunk back down into his bed until he was flat on the mattress. He pulled the pillows back down, adjusted them behind his head busily before settling his head on them. He wasn't letting himself think about yesterday, instead he was going to take a nap. Apart from the fact he was lying there awake and his thoughts were turning back to yesterday anyway.

That yearning again. That stupid, bloody need that made him act like an idiot. When he'd felt it on the ward he'd rationalised the feeling afterwards, that painful need to be touched by another human. He was sick, had nearly died on his way back from France, was weak and needed comfort, any sort of comfort, to remember he was human. He missed Doris, missed being with people who cared about him. He'd grabbed onto it as a life-line in a desperate situation. The medical staff were probably used to it, to the strange ways of injured men. It wasn't something that Kevin was proud of, but he could explain it in a sensible manner that made it seem reasonable. He neatly tidied the feeling away once he was better and thought he wouldn't need to worry about it again.

Yesterday didn't fit into the nice, tidy space he'd made. Blackadder caught him for no other reason than to stop him from falling. It was unexpected, considering that Blackadder would have once happily watched him fall flat on his face and then mocked him afterwards. But it wasn't life and death like it'd been on the ward. It was just a minor cock-up among many. Why had it brought that yearning to be touched back to the surface, let it break out of the neat space he'd put it away in? It was just Blackadder touching him. It wasn't anything special. It didn't explain why he felt overwhelmed by it, how he hadn't wanted him to let go. 

He slid further down the bed, his face slipping under the sheets. He could still feel the warmth of Blackadder's hands on him, as if he was still holding him. He could recall it perfectly, just like he could still smell him, feel the press of his face against Blackadder's chest. Kevin let out a slow breath, shut his eyes as he tried to not think about it. The intimacy of feeling the vibration of Blackadder's voice as well as hearing it.

He squeezed his eyes tighter. Not something he should be thinking about. It was weird to think about Blackadder's hands on him, staying on him for longer than they needed to, for more than just preventing him from falling. The thought made his breathing feel a little tight, that overwhelmed feeling surging back even without someone else touching him. Just thinking about Blackadder touching him, holding him from behind, pressed against his back, arms around his waist. 

Lips against his neck.

He screwed his eyes up really tight, rubbed his face with his hands. Oh god, he'd cracked. All this time he was mocking Blackadder for trying to fake it, and it turned out he was the one who'd gone barmy. It had to be desperation. He was so desperate for someone, anyone, that he was resorting to Blackadder, of all people. They'd somehow become friends and now his wires were getting scrambled like telephone lines, picking up an incoming call meant for someone else. 

Feelings he'd wanted to give to Doris, would give to another woman he would finally meet once he got out of this pit, were getting crossed over, accidentally ending up focused on Blackadder instead. It must be some form of insanity. There was no other explanation for why he'd want to touch him, to be held by him, to be...

His breath stuttered. Oh, no. He could feel something else stirring, mixing in with that urge to be touched, any sort of touch. That new urge that was significantly less high-minded. He tried to hold it off, but he could feel it stirring, could feel himself starting to get hard. 

Kevin tried to think of something else. Cold showers, mud, that weird liquorice he ate after the variety show got cancelled. It didn't help, the hardness refused to shift. It was clear that his libido was not going to be put off. He shifted to more saucy but suitable thoughts. Those dirty French postcards that were always floating around. The press of Sister Lewis' bosom against his arm. Even, in a fit of desperation, Doris naked on the rare occasion they had enough privacy for all their clothes to come off, ready for him to fuck her, something he hadn't let himself think of since she'd left him. 

They didn't work as intended. They weren't off-putting, didn't make his erection wilt, but they didn't really make him feel more horny either. He reached down into his pants, gave himself a few cursory strokes without thinking about anything at all. That felt like a start, his cock enjoyed it. Maybe if he treated it functionally, like any other bodily need, it wouldn't be a problem. He kept stroking his cock, pulled his pants further down since he had the privacy to. Quite nice to be able to have a wank without worrying about someone else walking in, or needing to use as few movements as possible to stop anyone else noticing. If he just focused on that, on how good the mechanics felt, he'd be okay. He bit his lip, sped up his strokes, tried to relax into it.

Relaxed too much into it, because the thought he'd cut off earlier came straight back. What if it was Blackadder doing it? What if it was Blackadder tossing him off instead? Blackadder pressed up against his back, hard against his arse, his head buried in the crook of his neck. Maybe praise whispered against his skin? Or taunting instead about how hard he was, how much he wanted him. 

'You're so hard, Darling. Is this what you always wanted? What if I had wanked you off every time you gave me lip? That would have shut that stupid mouth of yours up fast.' He could hear it in his voice, could feel what the heat of Blackadder pressed up against him would feel like. 'Darling' whispered in his ear as half taunting, half endearment. Oh, fuck. He was too close to coming to put himself off like he should, needed to. Instead he kept going, thrusting up into his hand. His breathing was rough, any sensible part of his brain switched itself off and let him go. He came imagining it was Blackadder's hand around his cock instead of his own.

The satisfaction of coming, the high of his orgasm lasted for as long as he could hold off thinking about it. When he could just sink into it, no intrusive thoughts about what caused it. Until he felt just how sticky his hand was, the unpleasant sensation dropping him back onto earth with a lurch. He sat up suddenly, wiped his hand off with a handkerchief as the panic started to get to him. 

It was unmistakable. He'd just wanked off while thinking about Blackadder. The thought made him feel dizzy, confused and even more panicky. This was bad. Really, really bad. It had to be the wires accidentally crossing over inside him, the urges he wasn't able to act on here getting all mixed up. What had just happened was the sexual equivalent to a wrong number. Of trying to call someone to issue commands and getting Heinrich von Untergrundbahn, commander of the Fourteenth Prussian Brigade, instead. Nothing else to it. Kevin tried to wash his hands of the matter. 

He looked out the window as he pulled his pants back up. That same, watery winter sunlight as yesterday. The same bare trees, rustling in the wind. The same room around him. Everything was the same as when he'd woken up yesterday. He was too. Even with this mix-up. Nothing had changed.

* * *

The physical therapy the next day gave him a reason not to go out again. A way to break the routine without looking like a coward. Blackadder gave him a look over his newspaper when he told him at breakfast, a look that he didn't meet, keeping his eyes firmly on his plate. It was very difficult to meet his eyes after yesterday. At some point he would have to again, but the longer Kevin could put it off, the better. 

The pulled muscle hadn't come to anything. His leg didn't hurt more than it usually did, and any stiffness was declared to be from not walking. Kevin had hoped, against all reason and sense, that they'd ban him from taking more walks. Not a chance. The doctor's orders stood to be enforced against him. 

Bugger. He'd have to come up with something else, some other way to weasel his way out of the walk. It was hard to think of anything that'd pass any sort of muster with Blackadder. He had his number, just like Kevin had his. Kevin knew he'd have to come up with something smart, and sharpish. He was still considering it when Blackadder caught him in the hallway, just as he was about to duck into his room. It was the only thing he'd come up with and it was already a failure. 

"Ah. Finally finished bunking off?" Kevin still couldn't quite meet his eyes even as he denied the accusation. 

"I wasn't bunking off! I hurt my leg."

"Of course you did." Some excuse, some way of getting out of it. 

"Captain Darling!" The booming voice of Sister Burnett behind him made him jump, turned around guilty as if he'd done something wrong. Which he hadn't. He was allowed to not go out if he didn't want to. "I see you're getting ready to go out. Good! Blackadder, make sure he goes out." 

"What? Why me?" The irritation in Blackadder's voice, even with his determination to get out of this, amused Kevin enough to glance to check his expression. He looked exasperated. 

"You're friends, aren't you?" The exasperation changed to annoyance, as if he was about to explain something to a particular thick child. A dangerous move with Sister Burnett, if he was trying to keep the nurses on-side. 

"No, we are not friends. Darling is just a nuisance I can't shake off." Sister Burnett laughed heartily in response, as if Blackadder had said something funny. Blackadder's annoyance grew as Sister Burnett swept past them, on route to go torment some other poor sod. "Great, now they think we're friends." It sounded like Blackadder couldn't imagine anything worse. 

"Aren't you overreacting a little?" Perhaps hypocritical coming from him, considering his drastic plans to get out of going for a walk, but still true. Kevin could accept them being friends, already had, even if he didn't accept the crossed wires situation being anything more than a temporary mix-up. 

"No. If I want to be friends with something with no brains, I'd pick the furniture before I picked you." Kevin shook his head. It was reassuring to see Blackadder acting like this, like nothing much had changed between them. It made the weird thoughts he'd had easier to push away, push down into some dark corner of himself to be ignored like he should have in the first place. A moment of madness best forgotten. Pushing it down so firmly made him able to meet Blackadder's eyes again, like it never happened, before smirking. 

"Haven't you got that very attractive scarf to put on?" Blackadder scowled, but went and got it anyway. 

They didn't walk on their normal route. Instead Blackadder, several steps ahead of him again, turned immediately left when they left the house. It wasn't the way he expected to go, straight into the gardens at the back of the house, but Kevin followed him. The paths and trees were more organised, more footsteps left in the gravel by the other men taking a turn around the gardens too. The distant sound of conversation made them more reserved than they usually were on their walks. Kevin glanced at Blackadder. His expression was more restrained than usual too, what he could see of it under the scarf. That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask, hadn't had the opportunity to. It was one with the potential to spoil a conversation, which made this a perfect time to ask it. Nothing to ruin.

"What happened to the rest of the company?" Blackadder turned to look at him, raised his eyebrows.

"You don't know?" Bad news then, just as he'd suspected. At least he wasn't the only survivor with Blackadder alive too. 

"Nobody ever mentioned it. That usually means bad news." 

"Well, that depends on how you define 'bad news'. I'm still getting regular letters from Baldrick, which is bad news, both in content and in getting the bloody things."

"He survived?" The disbelief at the news leaked into his voice. Baldrick struck him as the type who'd get killed immediately after going over the top. It was more of a shock to hear he'd survived. Blackadder grinned.

"Not only survived, but returned without a scratch on him. Now he's busy helping the German war effort." 

"Prisoner of war?"

"No, he's in the cooks auxiliary now."

"Dear god." If he didn't already want to avoid going back to the front-line at all costs, the possibility of eating Baldrick's cooking again would have been enough. 

"Exactly. He's sure to get the Iron Cross for his efforts in poisoning British troops." Kevin screwed up his face, not sure how much of a relief the news was. "A lot of the company brought it though. Can't say that it feels particularly good that so many men died. George survived though." 

"Really?" Kevin looked up at the tree they'd stopped in front of. Its spikiness stood out among all the more regular, delicate trees. 

"Yup." Blackadder paused, looked up at the tree as well. "Really, I don't get why they thought a monkey would ever be puzzled by this tree. They're smarter than most people I've met. Only someone who's never had to protect their rations from a criminal gang of monkeys would think this was too much for them." There was a story there, an interesting one that Kevin made a note of to ask about later. He wanted to get this conversation over before he asked for something lighter. 

"How did he survive?"

"Probably from being too stupid to realise he could die. He managed to make it across to the German lines, where the Germans took one look at him and took him prisoner. His uncles managed to arrange a deal, organised a prisoner exchange for someone who's actually useful for his country's war effort." 

"Nice if you can get it."

"Yup. Idiot talked himself out of a desk job in London afterwards too, even with his uncle still being Minister of War. Last I heard he's replaced you." Kevin squinted at Blackadder, tried to work out if he was joking. It didn't look like he was. It would explain those letters. The thought of George replacing him as Melchett's dogsbody made him feel something suspiciously like the start of a headache. All the hard work he'd put into his filing system, gone. 

"That explains that letter I got from Melchett." 

"You got a letter from Melchett? Darling, does he want you back?" It was a joke. The emphasis on his surname, the tone of it, as if he was being wooed back by some previous sweetheart away from Blackadder, made it very clear it was just a joke. One he'd heard plenty of times before, that caused him nothing but irritation. Nothing else to it. He forgot to snap at it, hoped his ears weren't burning like they felt they were. Stupid. He kept his gaze distance and didn't look at Blackadder. 

"No. He dictated a get well soon letter. Or at least, I think that's what it was. It was impossible to read." 

"And how did you reply?"

"I didn't. He's a moron." It felt good to say it out loud, after years of pretending to respect him. 

"Yes, and yet you kissed his arse for years. What does that make you, exactly?" Kevin might have been offended by that question before. Should still be offended by it now. But they both knew why he did it. All the way here in England, where it made no difference, he didn't come up with an excuse to cover it up. 

"A moron who wanted to survive. Are you going to stand there and gawk at a tree all day?" The question made Blackadder start walking again, turning along the paths. 

"'A moron who wanted to survive'. Well, I can't argue with that, you are a moron. But better to be a living moron than a dead genius."

* * *

The rumour that they were granting leave requests again pulled Kevin into the office. He wanted to go back to Croydon. It wouldn't be permanent, not until they decided his leg was as healed as it'd ever be, but he needed a break. Needed to be out of this hot-house environment where his only source of company was Blackadder. It was claustrophobic. If he could leave, even just for a few days, he'd be able to get back into his right mind again.

Blackadder had touched his shoulder yesterday. Just for a moment, to direct him on their walk. Kevin had felt like he was on fire, the yearning was so overwhelming. The wires were getting so tangled, so mixed up between what he should feel and what he was feeling. He needed to clear the line.

Unfortunately, Kevin wasn't the only one to hear the rumour. The office was rammed with men, two queues spilling out the door, one for the forms and the other to turn them in. It was chaos. Kevin took a deep breath, and joined the queue for the forms in the hallway.

"Oh!" A voice interrupted his waiting, a voice he recognised immediately. It'd be hard to forget her. He turned with a smile.

"Sister Lewis! Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Captain Darling. You look well." She didn't. There were deep, dark circles around her eyes, making the paleness of her skin look even starker. Her cap had started to come unpinned. A strand of hair was escaping from under it, stuck to her forehead. She looked exhausted, haunted. Less of a contrast to the field nurses now. He couldn't return the compliment. 

"How are you?" He asked with genuine interest, not out of politeness. The strange reversal of their previous roles made him feel even more sympathetic. Now he was the healthy one and she was struggling. The question surprised her, made her blink as if nobody had asked her in a while. Maybe they hadn't. 

"Me? Oh, I can't complain. It's just, well..." She glanced around, checking if any of the other patients were listening to her. They were all distracted by their own concerns, filling in forms, fidgeting and peering over heads to see where they were in the queue. She leaned in closer, he met her lean with his own as her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's bad, Captain. I've never seen so many men so badly sick from the flu before." 

"That bad?" She nodded. 

"We're keeping them isolated, and so far it's not spread, but there's only a couple of us left to look after the men who don't have it. I'm working my socks off." She sighed, her frame sagged under the weight of her worries. 

"I'm sorry, sounds tricky." 

"Thank you." She sighed again, before straightening up, brightening up a little. "It's good to see you again, though. You look a lot better. When I looked at the men with the flu through the window of the isolation ward, it made me think of you." Sister Lewis thinking of him at all was a shock. He assumed he would just be one among the many people she'd nursed. It was a little embarrassing to be remembered so clearly. Nice, though. 

"Really?" A wry smile on her face in response. 

"I don't think you realise how sick you were when you arrived. Everyone thought you were going to die. I thought so too. It was the first time I'd seen someone so ill come out at the other end like you did. You were a very lucky man." Luck again, like always. It really was just a case of how lucky you were on the day when your fate was decided. "It gives me hope I'll see more men be so lucky." 

"Well. I'm happy to help?" That made her smile properly. Still exhausted, but a little less drawn. 

"You have to take the positives in this life wherever you find them, captain. If there's one thing I've learnt in this job, it's that."

"Like getting leave." Kevin glanced at the queue, which still wasn't moving. How long did it take to get a form? It was ridiculous. 

"Is that what everyone's waiting for? I can't blame them. Matron said I should have Saturday off. I can't wait." Sister Lewis rolled her shoulders before giving him another smile. He wasn't used to getting smiled at like this. From how he'd seen her act with the other patients, she was this pleasant to all of them, minus the ones who dared to get grabby with her. There wasn't anything more to it. He'd noticed her reaction when he'd asked her for a favour, how she was prepared to sharply turn him down if he'd asked for something inappropriate. She wasn't a fool, and neither was he. She was just being kind to him because that was her nature, nothing else to it. 

Still, it was nice to be smiled at. 

"I'm hoping to get some. Go back home for a few days."

"Good, a change of scenery always clears the head. I'm not trying for anything that ambitious." Sister Lewis lowered her voice. "I heard the postmaster managed to get a copy of the new Chaplin film and they're doing a showing in the village on Saturday." The nurses weren't supposed to spend time in the village any more than the officers were.

"Are you going?" A throat cleared behind them, made them both turn around guilty. They expected it to be a nurse, perhaps Matron wondering where Lewis had got to and annoyed to find her chatting with a soldier. It wasn't. It was Blackadder, fixing both of them with a bored stare. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt such an absolutely thrilling conversation, it's truly enlightening stuff, but I'd like to get past before you both make me throw up." They both looked around them, realised with immediate embarrassment that with the queue behind them too, they were blocking the hallway. Sister Lewis moved out of the way, let Blackadder pass them. He didn't look at them again, went straight for the front door and shut it behind him with a slam. 

"I best get going, or Matron will be chasing me down. Best of luck with your recovery, Captain Darling."

"Yes, thank you. I hope everything improves upstairs." One last smile before she turned away. She looked like a mirage, in her clean white uniform, as she headed towards the staircase back to the ward. Like a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's tacky to laugh at your own jokes but I laugh at 'Heinrich von Untergrundbahn' every time I read it.


	5. If it starts a little bleaker, then the year may yet be gold

The winter storms hit with a force Kevin had never seen in England before. By the time they reached Croydon, they'd blown themselves out for the most part. It would perhaps take off some tiles, knock over some old, rotten trees and lead to the trains being cancelled. Not up here. 

They came straight in from across the Atlantic, the wind and the rain blew in at gale force. The full fury of nature, a fury that stopped anyone from going out if it wasn't an emergency. Even the hardiest officers didn't leave the house as the storms raged, which led to them picking fights with each other out of frustration. Kevin stayed well out of it, focused on reading, on planning what to do next. Even, despite knowing how foolish it was, how much money he'd lose on it, played cards with Blackadder. 

He'd wiped out him, again. One day he'd work out how exactly Blackadder cheated at cards. 

By the time the storm finally cleared, dark clouds lingering but the wind gone, even he was keen to go back outside again to get out of the tense atmosphere in the house. It was even affecting Blackadder, who'd been tetchy and irritable the past few days. Well, more tetchy and irritable. 

The mood still hung over them as they reached the point where the drive to the house split into three different paths. This time Blackadder didn't turn left. He chose to go right, to a part of the grounds they hadn't walked around before. 

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. If you don't like it, you can go away." Kevin frowned, followed him again despite his misgivings. Blackadder was much more touchy than usual, his shoulders hunched up even though the ice cold weather had lifted. His leg felt stiff from lack of exercise, and he didn't know how long this route was. He should have turned back, gone on a walk by himself, but he didn't. 

The path they took went deep into the woods. Kevin could hear the noise of deer rustling in the trees, even if they were too shy to come out to see them. This part of the grounds was their territory, dark and uneven under foot. He found himself falling behind, cautious as Blackadder marched off ahead of him into the darkness of the trees. This time he couldn't rely on being caught if he fell, realised it'd be up to him alone to save himself if he did. The thought depressed him as the ache in his leg got worse and Blackadder vanished from his sight. 

The spasm came on quickly. One moment he could walk, and then in the next he couldn't. The muscles in his leg seized up, went tight and he staggered. The pain drew a sharp, anguished breath from him as he struggled, managed to hobble over to a tree felled in the storms. The trunk was wide enough for him to sit on, but not so high he couldn't get onto it with his right leg as dead weight. His breath was sharp as he rolled up the leg of his trousers, started to massage the muscles like he'd been taught. The tension eased a little, but not enough to start walking. 

"You lucky, lucky bastard. That's a real injury, isn't it?" The voice emerging out of the darkness surprised him. Blackadder appeared back from the thicket of trees and approached him, took a surprised look at his leg that annoyed him deeply.

"What – did you really think I was faking it the whole time?" Surely it'd be a bit much, even for him?

"Well, yes. After the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps, I did." Kevin inhaled deeply through his nose, went back to his leg instead of looking at Blackadder. Idiot. "You really can only do a desk job now. You lucky bastard. Why did you get shot instead of me?" 

"I didn't ask to get shot! I'm sure if you'd asked someone would have shot you. I would have shot you." Kevin rubbed at his muscles furiously, a suitable distraction from talking about his injury. 

"Darling, that's too kind, but frankly I don't trust you to not put a bullet in my head." Kevin let out a noise that was almost agreement, although it wasn't true. Whatever he was feeling, he was sure that he didn't want Blackadder dead. 

"It's Captain Darling to you." There was a pause, his footsteps drew closer before Blackadder joined him on the tree trunk.

"So you're really out of it." This time it wasn't mocking. It was wistful. Kevin hadn't checked in on his plan recently, didn't feel comfortable asking if Blackadder had managed to convince them he'd cracked when Kevin was starting to think he might have cracked himself. The mixed-up feelings had stayed exactly where they were, even with Blackadder acting like a bear with a bad head-cold for the past week. It was cowardice that he hadn't asked. He knew it wasn't going well, it explained his stinking mood perfectly. 

"How's your plan going?" Blackadder sighed, rubbed his cheek. 

"Badly. The quacks got together to discuss me and cornered me. Either I make a sudden recovery that means I'm well enough to go back to the front-line, or they're sending me to the loony bin. A real one, not one of those fancy houses for terminally stupid inbred poshos. Apparently Doctor Haddler is very excited to meet me, and thinks I'd be a wonderful test case for his newest treatment. I'm told it involves lots of ice baths, electricity, being restrained for long periods of time and experimental injections." 

"Jesus." Even for someone willing to put up with nearly anything if it meant getting off the front-line, the treatment sounded unbearable. It might help someone who was mad, but it'd break a sane man. 

"The buggers got me bang to rights." Blackadder covered his face with his hands, let out a long breath. "I'll be back in France within the next month. Fuck." 

They both read the newspapers. Even with the relentless optimism of censorship, enough leaked through. Common sense said it too. The Americans hadn't arrived in Europe yet in big enough numbers to supplement their exhausted army. The French Army was on its knees and had been for the past year. If the German commanders had any sense, which they did, they'd make one final push to break them before the cavalry arrived to save the day. 

Going back now was a death sentence. 

Kevin felt in his pockets for his cigarettes, pulled out the packet and worked two out. He hesitated, wondered how dangerous it'd be to touch him again before deciding the moment required it. He moved his hand to rest on top of Blackadder's, curled his fingers around it to pull it back from his face. He put the cigarette in it, made Blackadder's fingers hold onto it before lighting it for him. The other hand dropped, and Kevin dared to look at his face as he inhaled.

Blackadder looked exhausted. Like someone who'd reached the end of the line, found a wall he couldn't get over. It felt wrong after all the other obstructions he'd seen Blackadder barrel through. It made him feel sick. There must be something, some way to get him out of it. Kevin lit up his own cigarette, looked up at the gap of sky peeking in between the clouds and the trees above them. Tried to think of something. Some loophole, something the doctors wouldn't know about.

"I'm a dead man." 

"You're not a dead man." Even when they were about to go over the top, Blackadder hadn't lost hope that he'd find a way to get out of it. None of them had. To see him quit now was disturbing. 

"Easy for you to say, you're not going back." Blackadder blew out smoke, rubbed his eye with his free hand. "I think this time, my goose is thoroughly cooked. I never thought I'd say this, because of...well, everything that's wrong with you, but right now I envy you." Kevin knew why. He was out of it, and Blackadder was going back. It was as simple as that, nothing else to it. His feelings made it feel less simple for him. The conflict between what he should want and what he found himself wanting was still there. 

He wanted to reach out and take Blackadder's hand. Not just a longing to be touched this time. Kevin wanted to touch him too. Reassurance that Blackadder would never accept, would never even want, especially from him. He switched his cigarette between his hands instead. 

"There's not much to envy, beyond being out of it."

"Frankly Darling, that's more than enough for me. I could put up with being an incredible drip like you if it meant I lived." A stupid, foolish thought bubbled up in him, the kind of rash, heroic, almost romantic thing he knew he wouldn't live up to if called on to. He'd die if it meant Blackadder survived. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He knew in the moment he'd be as much of a coward as he always was, would save his own skin at any cost. Most people didn't know any better when they said things like that, never ended up in that kind of situation. He had.

"You'll live." The certainty of his statement got him a curious look from Blackadder. He shrugged, looked away, uncertain of what his face said. It was reasonable, Blackadder had a knack for survival. He couldn't think of the alternative.

They stayed until they finished smoking. His leg was recovered enough that he could start to walk. Or more accurately, hobble until Blackadder got too frustrated to let it continue. 

"Right, I'm sick of this. Stop." Kevin stopped. Blackadder drew in closer, made him feel nervous. The arm around his shoulder, holding him up, letting him lean in against Blackadder made him jittery, a mixture of the yearning and nerves trickling through him as Blackadder's warmth seeped into him. They took one step, then another. With Blackadder holding him, he could make it. 

"I can't believe I'm having to do this for you. It's bloody ridiculous." Something about the complaint, as they shuffled along, felt familiar. So did the warmth of Blackadder, holding him up, pressed up against him and mixing up those feelings even more. It wasn't when Blackadder stopped him falling on the ice. No, it was something else, a different time. 

He couldn't place it.

* * *

This time his leg really did hurt enough to spend the day in bed. It felt like a waste when he had so much to do, had to find that loophole that would get Blackadder out of going back to the front-line. He hauled himself out of bed for long enough to go to the office, to request the volumes of regulations he knew covered retirement and reassignments. Of course Kevin knew how to request a reassignment without going back to the regulations and could do it in his sleep. He was an expert.

No, this would be more tricky. It'd be hard to get one for good behaviour, or on the basis of age at the moment. It required something more complicated, a loophole that nobody remembered to shut when the war started. If anyone could find it, Kevin was sure it was him. Even the clerk was too surprised by his precision to tell him he was wasting his time. Which he wasn't. 

He brought the volumes back to his bed, ignoring the ribbing he received for it from one of his room-mates as he went out. He poured through them, took notes as he read like he hadn't since he'd arrived in England. He found that he missed it, the research, the hunt to find the right solution even in this urgent situation. The way it all suddenly slotted together.

The service length tables (fig. 2034, p. 112, vol. 2) provided the key. Kevin scanned through them and felt it all fall into place. Blackadder's length of service meant that in a normal situation, outside of a war, he'd be eligible to be discharged on a pension. That route was shut now, but the reassignment on the basis of long-term service wasn't. Hard to do if Blackadder was found fit for service, but possible. He filled in the forms thoroughly, only left a gap on who'd need to sign it off.

Nobody in the hospital would, even if they had the authority to. He needed someone higher up. Melchett? The thought made his eye twitch. No chance. It might even end up getting Blackadder called up early so he didn't miss any jolly japes over the top. The thought of Melchett, however, brought George to mind. Stupid, simple, honest George. George with his Minister of War uncle. 

His...Minister of War uncle. That was it! If he could get it to George, with some emotional blackmail about doing a favour for 'dear old Captain Blackadder', a favour that Blackadder would be too modest to ask for (or more accurately, didn't know that the loophole existed for), he might do it. That stupid 'any favour for an old friend tally ho' public school attitude might save the day. It was risky in terms of George forgetting to do it, of course, but it was his best shot. 

The letter was easier to write than he expected. Once it might have been a struggle to think of enough nice things about Blackadder to put in a letter to convince someone to save him. Not now.

_'Remember how brave Captain Blackadder was when we were about to go over the top? How calm he was, how he led the way? I thought it was very noble of him and really admired it. It was true leadership.'_

He could think of enough to write several pages, even remembered to throw in some fake concern for Melchett, as if he cared what happened to that windbag. His concern for George was more genuine, at least. Even if it was mostly because he hoped he survived long enough to put this plan in motion. 

Kevin cheated on the envelope. He knew how censorship worked, knew the right markings to make it look really official. Enough to get it passed onto an outside censor with the right clearances to look at, to stop it being reviewed at the hospital and stopped in its tracks. He posted it in the box just in time for the afternoon post, smugly dropped the volumes of regulations onto the clerk's desk and limped out with pride. His leg hurt. He ignored it until he reached his bed again, climbed back into it and massaged it.

It was funny that he was doing this for someone as relentlessly selfish as Blackadder. A favour he didn't expect to be returned. He sighed, but the sigh was followed with a wistful smile. It wouldn't be appreciated, he knew that. It'd be taken by Blackadder as being just what he was entitled to. Amazing how he'd arrived at this point, willing to do it for him regardless. 

Damn it. He knew what it was, couldn't dismiss it as a mix-up any longer. His feelings might have started as that, lines getting crossed over by accident, his feelings switching over to Blackadder because there wasn't anyone else. They had remained for too long to still be just that. They had grown too, into something bigger. He didn't yearn to be touched by anyone now. It was a desire now, a need, to be touched and to touch one person only. It might be madness, but it was there.

What a ridiculous feeling. He didn't let himself name it, didn't want to give it any further power. It would pass, they would go their own separate ways after Blackadder got reassigned. It'd probably linger on in him, just like it had for Doris, but he'd get over it. It was for the best.

* * *

The official looking envelope absorbed all his attention, even as Kevin ignored it to get his breakfast. He couldn't think about anything else. The fact his address was typed, the thick wad of paper contained inside. It had to be. The doctors said it was time, his leg was as healed as it'd get. It was time for him to be discharged, move onto the next stage of his war.

Kevin distractedly sat down at their table, nearly dropping his plate as he did. Blackadder winced at the bang as Kevin caught it. 

"I've seen pigs eat their breakfast with more grace than that." Kevin looked up, as if he hadn't noticed Blackadder was there. He had, but not consciously. That part of him was distracted by the envelope. He blinked, then showed Blackadder the envelope. "Is that-"

"I think so." He couldn't hold off any longer, cut the envelope with his butter knife. His mother would have clicked her tongue at him for it. Blackadder just watched him. He eased the papers out, scanned through the cover letter quickly. His heart was racing in his chest. 

"Oh god, just spit it out already."

"They're my new orders. I'm to work for the Ministry of War in Whitehall in the supplies co-ordination unit as an...office manager." Oh. It sounded perfect. It was exactly the kind of post he'd been dreaming of the whole time he'd been in the army. Kevin looked up, met Blackadder's eyes. He looked withering, but also unmistakably envious. Kevin wasn't the only one who thought it sounded like a perfect job. 

"Whitehall. You lucky bastard." Kevin flicked through the other papers, found details of his billet too. 

"Do you know Endell Street?"

"Oh god, right in Covent Garden. You're in walking distance of all the best places in the West End." Blackadder rubbed his face. "You git. I'd kill to get billeted there." Kevin got the feeling Blackadder was considering if he could kill him right now for it. With a sigh, Blackadder turned back to his breakfast. "Think of me when I'm getting blown up, will you? Even if you are busy getting hammered in the Lamb and Flag." 

Kevin would think of him even if he hadn't asked. Foolish as it was to. Still, it reminded him to flick through his other letters. No response from George today, he hadn't even received an acknowledgement of his letter. The clock was ticking, time was running out. His relief at receiving his orders was dampened by his fears for Blackadder. For what came next.

* * *

On their walk the next day, Kevin found the atmosphere pressing down on him. It felt heavier than yesterday, even with a day to process the fact he'd received his orders. In a few days he'd receive his railway warrant and return to London. In a few days, there would be no more doctor visits or physical therapy or nurses, no more wondering what'd happen to him next. 

No more walks around the grounds with Blackadder. He wouldn't go into the hallway again, find Blackadder there, waiting for him. See him turn and walk without a word, expecting him to follow. No more watching the birds, the deer, who lived freely like there was no war at all. No more peaceful countryside. No more afternoons standing at the edge of the pond together, arguing about something pointless while the waterbirds dove into its depths. 

He would be leaving the life he'd managed to build here, after thinking he'd lost everything. The little world of the house and its grounds, peaceful among the chaos that raged outside. The closed off hot-house like environment that made an unexpected relationship grow between him and Blackadder, forced them into closer proximity than they ever would have been otherwise. Calling it a hot-house seemed fitting. It never would have bloomed in normal circumstances. It needed the extra warmth, attention, time, coaxing. It would have died outside. 

Blackadder was distracted too from the moment they met in the hall. Kevin hadn't dared to ask why. He wasn't happy not knowing, he just feared the answer too much to ask. 

"So, I received two letters today." Blackadder's words finally came as they reached the pond, once again. The familiarity of the walk made it simple, their muscle memory doing the hard work.

"Oh really?" The words seemed lacking, bloodless. Kevin wasn't sure what else to say.

"Yes. The first one was my orders." Kevin's heart felt like it was about to burst, took a sharp breath that Blackadder noticed, gave him a brief glance to assess. He had to prepare for the worst, that it hadn't worked out, that the doctors beat him. "I'm to take up an office job, and that's all I can tell you about it. This, as you can imagine, was quite the surprise. A plum job like that falling into my lap, you could have knocked me over with a feather." 

The relief surged through him. It worked. He took a deep breath, finally smiled as he met Blackadder's eyes. Blackadder didn't look pleased, so much as confused. 

"That's good news, isn't it?"

"Yes, very. Weirdly good news, in fact. Not that I'm going to look a gift horse in the mouth when it gets me out of the latest great plan to walk very slowly toward the people shooting at me. Or at least, I wasn't going to until I read this letter." Blackadder dug into his pocket, producing the other letter with a flourish. "I need to read this to you, it doesn't have the same impact if I summarise it." He cleared his throat, moved the paper closer and then further away from his eyes before starting. 

" _Dear Cappy Blackadder_ – I'm not sure where he got the idea he could call me that, and I think he outranks me now, as much as it pains me to say it – _jolly good to hear from you again! Heard you got the old heave-ho from the Jerries and were recovering in England. What with various Bobs being one's uncle, naturally I was thrilled to be able to do you a favour! I got all the Bobs together and managed to get it sorted for you. It sounds like it'll be terribly exciting, lots of_ – ah, there's a long censored bit here, because the idiot wrote down every single classified thing he knew about this job. I think they should be grateful he didn't send it to Uncle Heinrich again. _Next time you need a favour from me, don't be so modest and ask yourself! Happy to do it for my old chum. I thought Captain Darling was a wet blanket but it was rather topping of him to write to me to ask on your behalf, but tell him not to bother with forms etc. if he does it again, they're all a bit **boring** to deal with!!!_ The multiple exclamation marks are overdoing it, but the way he underlined boring three times is quite good, I must say. _Come visit the old family pile once beastly Huns are defeated. Darling welcome too. Best wishes, George Colthurst St. Barleigh._ " 

Blackadder lowered the letter. Kevin probably should have guessed George would write to Blackadder instead of him. After all, it was Blackadder he was saving, why wouldn't someone as simple-minded as George assume he'd just write to him? It only would have prevented the crushing mortification of getting caught doing a favour he couldn't explain. Blackadder met his eyes and he couldn't hold his gaze, looked away, back at the pond again. 

"Why did you do this? Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining at all, but it is quite a change to go from trying to get me executed to stopping my return to the front. Some sort of psychotic break, perhaps?" The suggestion made Kevin bristle.

"You might be contemptuous of bureaucracy, but it meant I could get that done for you."

"I think George would disagree with you there. Also, that's not really an answer, is it. Why?" Kevin hesitated. He knew the answer, even if he couldn't dare say it out loud, hadn't even let himself use the word in his mind. But there was the consequence of it, he realised, that he could say out loud.

"I didn't want you to die." 

"Oh, god. For someone who's such a stinking coward, you're disgustingly noble sometimes. How many times have you done this now? Three?" 

"Done what?" Blackadder sighed, as if Kevin was being incredibly thick. Possibly he was, but he couldn't work out what Blackadder was referring to. 

"Don't make me say it." 

"I don't understand." They looked at each other, Blackadder willing him to acknowledge it without forcing him to say it. He still had no idea what Blackadder was talking about. The confusion must have looked real enough to force Blackadder to say it.

"This is the third time you've saved my life. For someone who's a true yellow-bellied coward, you seem to really enjoy saving me. You really don't remember, do you?" Kevin shook his head. Blackadder sighed again, looked away and put his hands in his pockets. 

"When?" 

"In France." The blank in his memory, only the briefest flashes without any context. That time between going over the top and waking up in hospital over a month later. He'd assumed that nothing of importance had happened, hadn't questioned that assumption until now. Blackadder looked back at him. His expression was different. It wasn't an expression he'd seen before, not even the thoughtful one. It was something new. It was warm. "I guess you want to know?" 

"If you don't mind."

"I do, deeply, but I'll tell you anyway. I've met lots of brave men who turn into cowards at the final push. I can count on one hand the number of incredible cowards I've met who turned into brave men at the final push." Blackadder looked up at the sky. "I'll tell you about one."


	6. Please keep me in mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should shed some light on the question: okay, we know how Darling feels. How about Blackadder? I hope it proves as illuminating as the experiences described were for Blackadder.

Not his sodding day. Not his sodding day at all. He tried his arm again, just in case the situation had tried again. It was still stuck. The metal crosses that formerly supported the barbed wire, before the Germans had kindly blown them up, were on top of him. They weren't crushing him but he was pinned down and couldn't get free. He could feel some bits of barbed wire poking him, some scratches on his face, but no real injuries.

Bugger. In better circumstances, if it'd just been a raid, he could survive this. Someone might sweep no man's land later, lift the supports off him and free him. Not today. There wasn't going to be anyone left in his company to find him, from how he'd seen everyone else mowed down. The shell had dropped two feet away from him. It didn't kill him but sent him flying into this shell hole instead. Just the perfect spot for the supports for the barbed wire that was also being blown up to land on top of him. 

Nobody was going to come out here to look for him. He wasn't bleeding, he wasn't even really hurt, just trapped. He was going to die of sodding exposure. Couldn't even reach his service revolver to put himself out of the misery of the slow, prolonged death he was facing.

Edmund took a deep breath, looked up at the sky. He knew how it went. He'd heard enough men die, men who might have survived if they weren't trapped. They'd moan for a while, then call for their mothers, then die. 

God, he hoped he didn't call for his mother. She might appear. The last thing he wanted was a nagging ghost showing up to go 'I told you you'd come to a sticky end, Edmund, if you didn't wash behind your ears!'. Ironically, he had done that before going over the top. So much for that, mother. 

His father was a bust too. He wouldn't show up, why would he break a habit of a lifetime? Edmund wondered if he should have gone to Russia too. It seemed to work out for him. Then again, there was that revolution going on there now. The heiresses had probably all fled. Still, it couldn't have turned out any worse than dying in no man's land from exposure. 

Really, it was the slowness he objected to. If he was going to die, he wanted something quick and easy. He should have taken a few steps to the right, he wouldn't have even felt it. He wouldn't be stuck here, looking at the clouds passing over the shells and bullets further down indifferently. The anger passed, shifted into fear.

He was really going to die like this. He'd had so many brushes with death, that absolute terrifying fear, but somehow he'd lucked out. A last minute break. A phone call before the count of three of the firing squad. Edmund still hoped for one more time, one more lucky chance. Come on! His luck couldn't have abandoned him here, surely? He wasn't going to die for this, just to gain a whole foot of earth back from the Germans? 

The shelling continued overhead. It'd probably keep going until he died, would still be going when he was buried in a grave in some quiet corner of France. A white tombstone, his regiment on it, not even the clever turn of phrase he'd thought of on it. He'd be more than bloody annoyed, anyway. He shut his eyes and tried to move his legs again. Yup, solidly trapped. He tried his arms. Still trapped. He was done for. 

The shelling stopped. The break made the ringing in his ears noticeable. He knew it was foolish, no help was coming, but the pause gave him hope. Someone might come out to check, someone might come and find him.

It started again. Boom, boom, bloody boom. Only a lunatic would come now, anyone with sense would be crawling back to their trenches if they could, and anyone that barmy would be dead. He opened his eyes, tried to tilt his head to see where he was. He wasn't that far from the front line trench. If he could get free, he easily could have got back. He tried again, just in case. Nope. Not even the shells that dropped nearby were enough to dislodge him. 

It was over. He was going to die. There was no lucky final chance. God, he was going to miss being alive. It'd been so much fun. The last few years not so much, but even then it was better than being dead. No last visit to the Pink Pussycat. No final shag with someone who wasn't a German spy. No bastard spawn suddenly appearing on his doorstep, like he always expected would happen one day. No woman pregnant with his child, accompanied by her father who had a very good shotgun to walk him down the aisle with. 

How sad. To be this old and miss doing so many things. Like smacking Melchett in his stupid bloody face. To not do all the things he'd enjoyed so much all over again. All the drinking, the shagging, the schemes, getting one over everyone else. Even tormenting Darling had been enjoyable, despite the nearly fatal consequences it caused on occasion. Still, what did he truly regret? Only that he wasn't going to be alive any longer and have all the fun that involved. And that he hadn't smacked more people in the face. Otherwise he'd lived much like he wanted to. 

It was how he'd like to be remembered, as well as for being the cleverest bastard around. Edmund Blackadder: he lived much like he wanted to. He just wanted to live for a while longer. Even if it was impossible. 

Over the noise of the shells, the ringing in his ears, Edmund somehow heard something drop next to him with a thump. No whistle with it, unlikely to be a shell. For better, for worse. It'd be too fast to notice it. He shifted, turned his head to look in the direction of the noise. The barbed wire scratched his face as he moved, he ignored it. 

Hyper-ventilating, with what looked like a frankly horrific leg injury, the sight felt like some sort of hallucination. Was he closer to dying than he realised? If so, strange he'd choose to imagine this instead of, say, the hostess at the Pink Pussycat. The sight shuddered, crumpled down from their knees into a heap with a strangled noise. It looked real. It must be real. Edmund let out a noise of disgust. Trust him to end up with someone showing up, but in an even worse state than he was.

"Darling." He called his name, and he saw it. Even in a heap, Darling's face twitched. It was lucky on multiple fronts: that Darling hated him calling his name like that so much that it reached him even now, and that the Germans would think he was calling for someone who wasn't there. "Darling." More insistent, enough to make Darling lift his head, turn to look at him. He scowled.

Oh, good. Couldn't be that badly addled if seeing him was enough to make him pull a face like a smacked arse. 

"Blackadder?" Slightly confused, but more with it. Time to break out the small words, make it as easy as possible. Darling, while a twerp, was smarter than most people he dealt with. It was part of the reason they hated each other so much. Right now, however, it was an advantage. If it was Baldrick, he'd die before he got his head around what he needed to do. 

"Yes. I'm trapped. I need you to lift the supports off me." Darling looked at the supports on top of him and went a little pale. Oh, god. Not a good start. Either he was more severely injured than he realised, or Darling was terrified of manual labour. "You just need to start slowly..." A burst of machine gun fire made Darling drop to the ground on instinct, made Edmund close his eyes in exasperation. This was going to take forever. He opened them, expected to see Darling still cowering in the mud. He wasn't. Instead he'd crawled his way over to Edmund's legs, winding his way through the barbed wire carefully as he got closer.

"Your legs are buried too." His voice wavered. Edmund felt doubtful. Was smart any better if it was teamed with cowardice? Maybe someone like George was better, brave and able to follow very clear, simple directions. A sharp breath, and Darling started digging. Edmund craned his head up enough to watch without catching it on the barbed wire. He didn't even have anything to dig with. Instead he used his hands to furiously dig up the mud, threw it behind him with none of the hesitation he'd expected. Edmund felt the weight of the mud around his legs slowly ease, then vanish as Darling kept digging. He looked like a man possessed. 

The digging stopped. Darling stopped, panting furiously before he swallowed again. Screwing up something inside him. Edmund wasn't someone who revised his judgements of people often. He was good at understanding what made people tick, and how to use it to his advantage. But the way Darling moved closer to the support, summed up all the force he could and pushed the support, even as another burst of machine gunfire splattered near them, well. It made him reconsider Darling. 

The support wobbled. He pushed again, harder, gritting his teeth and putting all his effort into it. It shifted, then rolled over, away from Edmund. Edmund wriggled his legs. They were free! Oh, glorious, glorious freedom. Now he just needed Darling to get the next one off and he was free. He might, somehow, survive this. 

"Darling." The call of his name made Darling look at him again, nod as he approached the support over his chest, pinning down his arms. He took a look at the situation, the barbed wire around his upper body.

"Sorry about this." Edmund opened his mouth, shut it immediately as Darling straddled his waist. Oh, god. Was he sure he wasn't dreaming? This definitely felt like some sort of bizarre dream. The weight pressed down on him said otherwise, made Edmund decide to keep very, very still. Not a bad idea with all the barbed wire around them. He focused on that, not on any thoughts of when he'd last been straddled like this. Significantly less clothes were involved then. Apparently his urge to live was going to be tested to its very limits by having his nemesis straddling him while rescuing him. Well, tough titty. He really did want to live. 

Darling, however, didn't pause. He kept going and pushed it, shoved at the support. Edmund saw the barbed wire slash into his arm, how it made him wince but didn't stop him. One more push and the support rolled off. The barbed wire around him meant he couldn't break free like he wanted to, still trapped by it and by Darling on top of him, but he could breath. He looked up at Darling.

Darling looked down at him, his chest heaving. He looked dazed for a moment, before giving him a grin. His eyes were wide and wild. The eyes of someone whose adrenaline was probably due to crash at any moment and would then remember what happened to his leg and how much it hurt. 

"Not bad, eh?"

"Could you get off me?" Darling slid down off him, hit the ground with a thump. The cursing that followed suggested to Edmund the shock and adrenaline had worn off, and Darling would now be completely useless. Edmund turned onto his front slowly, looked at how far he was from the front trench. Only a couple of feet. Enough to be able to drag himself back. He glanced over at the heap of Darling. Of course, he could have just left him there to fend for himself. It would be easier. So much easier. 

But even he wasn't that much of an ungracious bastard. Darling might be a complete prat, but he was a complete prat who'd just saved his life. 

"Darling. The trench is about two feet away here." The mud stuck to him as he slowly crawled backwards, until he finally reached Darling again. The adrenaline had peaked. He looked pale and very unwell. "Can you move?" Darling shook his head. "Well, tough titty. I can't carry you, so you're going to have to." He pulled on Darling's collar and started to drag him along. 

Slow, awkward business. The pauses when a shell whistled overhead, Edmund praying that none of them had his name on it. It'd be bloody typical to get blown up after breaking free. Slowly, Darling started to move his own limbs too instead of being a dead weight. By the time they reached their trench, he was moving both his legs. Painfully, with constant winces, but moving them. 

The ladder was a welcome sight. Edmund turned around, worked his legs over the top of it before reaching down, stopping when he felt a rug. He climbed his way down, thrilled at the feeling of finally being back on his feet. Darling slid up to the top of the ladder, paused. Edmund sighed, moved back to the bottom of the ladder.

"Drop down. I'll catch you." It wasn't something he'd offer to anyone, didn't really want to offer it to Darling either. He opened his arms anyway, waiting for Darling to fall. Darling hesitated, then dropped suddenly, as if he hadn't meant to. The impact of his weight made Edmund stagger, before holding him upright. His arms were tight around Darling as he looked down at his leg. 

Yup, Darling's leg was a mess. That was a blighty wound there, if he survived for that long. He could call for a stretcher, get someone else to deal with it. But that'd leave him here, ready for the next inevitable push. No chance. Edmund was determined: he was not going over the top again. He hadn't survived to die up there. 

Only one thing for it: he'd take Darling to the medics himself, and think of a way to get himself taken back to England too on the way there. Edmund hauled Darling up onto his feet, let him sag against him. They started to walk. The two of them, the only survivors of their company as far as he could tell. What an absolute waste. 

"I can't believe I'm having to do this for you. It's bloody ridiculous." Darling looked at him pathetically, too pale and tired to say anything. Hard to imagine him pulling all those defences off him, using his bare hands to dig his legs free. Hard for Edmund to forget it now he'd seen it. The bravery would have been striking in any situation. From Kevin Darling, it was incredible. 

There was more to the little twerp than he'd ever suspected.

* * *

Blackadder paused. Kevin's leg was aching from standing still for so long, but he hardly felt it. Whatever story he expected Blackadder to tell him, it wasn't that. He was reeling. 

Somehow, despite everything, he'd ended up being brave when it really mattered. He didn't remember it, only vaguely remembered Blackadder holding him up, his leg hurting and the complaining. Everything else was blank. 

If it'd been someone else, he might be suspicious. With how peed off Blackadder looked, it had to be true. Blackadder would never make up a story to make him look like a hero. 

"I rescued you?" It still seemed so unlikely. Kevin always thought he'd break under that kind of pressure, would fail and be even more of a coward than usual. To find out otherwise was a shock. It wasn't the sort of thing that happened to him, to find he was a better person than he thought he was.

"What, you think I made that story up for fun?" That was true. If he'd made it up, it would have been flipped, to Blackadder saving his life and forcing a debt of gratitude on him to be collected at any time. 

That also meant he'd straddled Blackadder, even if it was just for the purpose of saving his life. Oh, god. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that he couldn't remember it. It was better that he didn't. He really wished he could. He coughed, cleared that thought away. 

"No, I guess not." The ache of his leg was getting worse, but he didn't move away. He was still thinking about the fact he’d saved Blackadder's life.

Wait a second. Blackadder said that was the third time. That was only one occasion. When was the second time? Kevin looked at Blackadder curiously. Blackadder stepped back, tried to look casual. He knew that expression. He was about to try to get out of something. His instinct to pin Blackadder down when he was about to get away was as strong as ever, even with his emotional turmoil. 

"You said three times. When was the second time?"

"That was when I took you to the medics."

"No, you wouldn't count that. That was you saving yourself, you wouldn't give me credit for it." 

"Really, I think you're exaggerating." It was so obvious, like every time he'd caught Blackadder in a lie in France. Despite the turmoil inside him, he pushed on. He wanted to know. 

"Cut the crap and fess up. You don't fool me for a second, Blackadder." They stared at each other, daring the other to give up first. Kevin could feel his cheeks heating up under the intensity of Blackadder's eyes, but stuck it anyway. 

Blackadder looked away first. There was something growing on his cheeks that Kevin never expected to see on them. A blush. Big, bad Blackadder was blushing. He rubbed his neck, sighed. 

"Fine. If you insist, I'll tell you. But I warn you, you won't like this story. It's nothing to boast to your next girlfriend about. Final chance to back out." 

"Tell me." Blackadder took a long, slow breath, looked at him with a mixture of irritation and embarrassment.

"You can't complain about this afterwards, you realise. It's your own fault. You chose to hear it, and after today I'm never discussing it again."

* * *

The most useful thing he'd learnt in the field hospital was that if you're not haemorrhaging, they're not going to pay attention. It was a non-stop parade of human misery, which would be depressing if it wasn't his ticket out of here. In a proper hospital, one that wasn't operating out of a tent with a constant stream of dying men carried in, he would already be kicked out as a malinger. 

Edmund certainly wouldn't have been able to get away with faking a fever by getting his thermometer to take Darling's temperature instead of his own. How come he'd never tried it before? It was genius, although it did require him to have an incredibly feverish patient nearby. Every time Darling was moved, he'd whined in his fake delirium to be moved next to him again. The nurses thought they were friends, that Edmund was seeking out comfort in the strange, distressing circumstances he was in.

Well, they weren't entirely wrong. It was very comforting to have Darling nearby so he could use him at any time to keep faking his fever. He wasn't completely callous, of course, he was a bit concerned that Darling didn't seem to be improving at all. If he died, so did his hopes of getting back to England. He just had to last long enough to get them across the English Channel. After that, he'd put his fate back in the hands of God, where it belonged. 

Two nurses entered the room, and Edmund shut his eyes, faked being asleep. His ears perked up, to hear if they were about to be moved again. The nurses were very lax here, with no concern about being overheard by patients at all. Probably a side-effect of having so many patients die on them. 

"How many spaces are there on the next transport?" Edmund strained himself to listen, didn't want to miss a word of this. Was this finally his chance? The sound of paper being shuffled through, before the other nurse replied.

"There's twelve beds on the ship, Matron."

"Twelve? It's less every time."

"It's a small boat. They think this might be the last one they can provide for a week." A loud sigh, filled with tiredness and exasperation.

"Twelve beds. How many men are we getting a day with this push?" 

"A lot more than twelve. A lot more." The nurse cleared her throat before she continued. "I think the twelve from the first day of the offensive would be the best choice. They're all relatively stable, but I think they'd all improve with the kind of care they can provide in England." 

"Let's see..." More paper turning. The first day. That was the day he arrived! By god, he might be one of them yet. The thought of England made his heart sing. Matron counted through them, reached twelve and then paused. "There's thirteen here from the first day. One of them is going to have to stay behind."

Edmund's heart stopped singing and started to cower instead. 

"Really? One, two, three...you're right, it's thirteen. Shame, it'd be good if we could clear them all out." 

"You know what arses they are about extra men. Let's see, who's the most stable of them...that's Captain Blackadder."

Shit, shit, shit. If he had to stay behind, he was done for. No way to keep faking the fever. Edmund could feel his chance to get back to England slipping away from him.

"Matron. I know it's unconventional, but I have a plan." If he wasn't pretending he was too sick to hear this, he could kiss her. A woman with a plan! Not just any woman, a nurse with his fate in her hands. 

"I'm not sure I want to hear this."

"I normally wouldn't suggest it, but if we can get all thirteen of them on the ship, it'd clear that whole ward. We might even get a chance to clean it thoroughly before the next patients get in, not just a quick wipe down. Plus thirteen free beds! The commanders will be thrilled." 

"My question to you is this. Where's that additional bed coming from?" The silence felt heavy, and Edmund willed her on. She must have something, some bright idea that'd save him. 

"I said it was unconventional, but I think with how close they already are, they might agree to it." 

"You can't be serious."

"I am. If we can get Captains Darling and Blackadder to share one bed, I think we might be able to squeeze them both in." Edmund had to agree with the Matron. Surely she couldn't be serious? Make him share a bed with that twerp? That must be against the regulations, whatever they were. It must be a breach of the Geneva Convention too as cruel and unusual torture. 

"They won't agree to it."

"Present it as a fait accompli." The nurse was right, he'd agree with that. The best plan was always one already carried out. 

"You're terribly rebellious these days." 

"If it saves one more man, I'm willing to ignore any of the rules." If it wasn't for the fact she was trying to get him to share a bed with someone he hated, Edmund could see him falling for such a woman. As clever as he was, with the same disregard for the rules if it stopped them getting what they wanted. 

"Oh Lord, what are you dragging me into this time? I'm not comfortable with this, it's like something out of the Crimea. Men forced to share beds together like animals!" A pause, a look must have been exchanged between them. "If you must insist. But they're gentlemen. You must ask them first." Oh no. 

"But Captain Darling-"

"If you wake him up, I'm sure he can answer. Blackadder too. Go on. I'm not doing this without their consent. I'll be in enough trouble as it is for going along with your hare-brained scheme, I want my conscience to be clear." Edmund could feel the blood pounding in his ears. He knew what he'd say when he was asked. He'd agree to it, as odious as it was. Better to be alive in shame than dead with his pride. He'd done worse to survive, as horrible as canoodling with Darling would be. 

Darling might disagree. If Darling turned it down, he was done for. They'd send him back to the front-line and he'd be back over the top again within a week. God knows Darling was petty and spiteful enough to willingly send him to his death, might even enjoy doing it. 

His life was in Darling's hands, and he wasn't sure if he was even lucid enough to realise it. Oh please, let Darling decide he wanted to be a brave hero again. Absolutely sod's luck to end up in his debt twice for it, but death was no option. Edmund knew better. He wanted to survive at all costs.

The footsteps approached him first. A small hand on his arm, gently shaking him awake. He blinked, let himself pretend to wake up again. Confused, dazed. The nurse was pretty, in an abstract sort of way. She would have been prettier if she'd managed to get him back to England without forcing him to share a bed, though. 

"Who-"

"I'm sorry to wake you, Captain Blackadder. I need to ask you an important question." He blinked some more, looked at her with confusion as she brushed a hand over his forehead. One advantage of being forced to sweat for his life like this, he felt as hot as if he had a fever. "We can get you back to England, they'll be able to treat you better there. But to do it, you'd have to share a bed with Captain Darling. Unfortunately there's not enough room otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Make it less of a mouthful! You think someone with a fever is going to understand so many words?" The Matron barked from the other side of the room. The nurse frowned, annoyance flashing on her face, before she adjusted her expression to something more neutral. 

"To get home, you'll need to share a bed with Captain Darling. Do you agree to do this?" A simpler question this time. The bluntest question of survival he'd ever been asked. He wetted his lips, found his voice stuck in his throat. 

"Yes." The nurse smiled, ran her hand over his forehead again to reassure him. Didn't feel particularly reassuring, considering what he'd just agreed to. 

"Thank you, Captain. Go back to sleep now." He faked drifting off on her command, let her walk over to the other bed. Off to put his fate in Darling's hands. 

"Captain Darling? Captain Darling?"

"Hilda? Aren't you supposed to be at school?" Edmund resisted the urge to wince. Oh, god. He was going to die, and it'd be Darling's fault because he couldn't even correctly identify a nurse when he saw one. 

"Captain Darling, you're in a hospital."

"Oh. Does Mother know you're in hospital?" Edmund heard Matron sigh, felt his chance slipping further away. 

"I'm not Hilda. I'm a nurse." Her perkiness contrasted with the anxiety he felt. 

"Ah. Hello, nurse." Darling sounded drunk. There wasn't a hope in hell that Matron would believe any agreement they got from him. They'd have better luck with getting more sense out of Archduke Franz Ferdinand after he was shot. 

"We're going to send you back to England."

"I'm on holiday?" Yup. He was done for. Darling thought he was on a day trip to Calais. Sodding hell. Even the nurse sounded less certain than she did before. 

"No. Um, you've been fighting in a war." There was silence. Edmund feared the worst, that he'd fallen back asleep. 

"Still? I thought I got injured." A glimmer of hope, as Darling started to sound like less of a fruitcake. 

"That's right, you were injured! And now we can send you back to England."

"Oh. Jolly good. Terrible shame to be out of it." Never mind the nurse, right now Edmund could kiss Darling. There was the cowardly prat he knew and currently loved! Now to hope he didn't remember the bit where he hated his guts. 

"Your friend Captain Blackadder is here too. But for him to go back too, he'll need to share a bed with you. Are you willing to do that?" It was probably the mention of 'friend' that made Darling pause like that. He wished he could move. Wished he could make a threat behind the nurse's back of what he'd do to Darling if he didn't agree sharpish. The longer it dragged on, the more his heart sunk. 

"Blackadder?" The questioning tone didn't bode well. "I can't believe he's injured. Oh, well." It was over. He was done for. He was going to haunt Darling when he died, for every single day of his miserable life back in Croydon with that stupid girlfriend of his until he died, and then he'd beat the crap out of his ghost. "Yes, of course. He's quite a good chap after all." 

'Quite a good chap after all.' Where on earth had Darling got that idea from? He must be sicker than anyone thought. Still, he wasn't going to question it. Not with the relief flooding through him. He was spared. England! Glorious, glorious England. He trusted the nurse to fight for him. Trusted Matron not to oppose it now she had the agreement she wanted. Trusted Darling not to ruin it at the last moment. 

His trust wasn't misplaced. Despite the objections of the drivers, of the orderlies, of practically everyone organising that transport back to England, Edmund found himself in that ambulance taking him to the port. He might be shoved into a bunk bed in the ambulance that was barely wide enough for him, never two men, but he'd put up with anything to get back to England.

Even with Darling lying half on top of him, head resting on his chest, fast asleep. It was far closer than he'd ever wanted to be to him. He even had to put an arm around him to stop Darling falling out of the bed and dragging him down with him whenever the ambulance cornered. Darling didn't seem bothered in the slightest, remained blissfully asleep. In fact, there was even more colour in his face than there'd been for days. 

Edmund was very bothered, but he was resigned to it. At least Darling didn't snore. Edmund didn't ask for much in bunkmates, on the unlucky occasions he found himself with one, and that was one thing he really appreciated. He wasn't constantly farting or making wibbly noises with his mouth either. One time in the Sudan, he'd had to share a bed with someone for a week who did all three. Edmund had tried to hand him over to the enemy himself and was only stopped by the meddling of his commanding officer. As if it would have been any kind of loss!

That was a long time ago now. It was probably the last time he'd shared a bed with someone he wasn't shagging, until now. Once he got his commission, it was bye-bye bed sharing. He could force his men to double up instead, and hoped nobody got too horny from it. A little bit of shagging amongst his men was something he turned a blind eye to, anyway. Edmund had done his time, had turned to it when frankly, nothing else was going and he'd been desperate for a bit of rumpy-pumpy.

* * *

"Wait-" Kevin couldn't take it, hadn't even interrupted the flow of the story when they moved to the bench near the trees, still overlooking the pond, to give his leg a rest. This particular revelation finally broke his resolve.

"Will you shut up? You asked for this bloody story, you can at least sit there and listen to it without interrupting me."

* * *

Not that it'd been his preferred option. Still, he'd learnt a lot of things in the British Army, and one of them was that it didn't pay to be picky. Edmund looked down, recoiled a little when he found Darling staring back up at him with an expression that was very close to adoring. Ugh. Definitely not what he wanted to see. 

"Doris?"

"Sodding hell, do I look like Doris?" Darling blinked, took a closer look at him as if he wasn't sure. Poor Doris. If he was interchangeable with her, she wasn't much of a looker. 

"Oh." Darling didn't ask any further questions, dropped his head back onto his chest and fell asleep again. Edmund inhaled deeply through his nose. It was weirdly innocent for Darling to wake up and assume he must be his girlfriend. Terminally stupid, undoubtedly, but innocent. He moved his other hand to pat Darling on the head, as if he was a rather dim but harmless puppy. Not a phrase he'd have applied to Darling before, but this week was filled with all sorts of surprises. Darling made a soft 'hmm' in response, murmured something to himself and shifted closer to Edmund.

Weird. Deeply, deeply weird. Despite that, Edmund found himself not as pissed off by it as expected. They were heading back to England, and after this, he'd probably never see Darling again. He could put up with him being a clingy weirdo who thought he was his girlfriend to get home. 

Even if once they were finally onboard the ship, Darling got even more clingy. This time the bed wasn't quite as narrow, there wasn't the need to have Darling right on top of him. Obviously he didn't see it like that, from the way he was holding onto him like a terrified bush baby refusing to be removed from a tree. 

God. Was Darling so lonely that he was resorting to cuddling with him in a barely lucid state? In the quiet darkness of the ship, the breathing of other barely conscious men around him, he couldn't help but wonder. It was a strange place to be. 

"Are you really that lonely, Darling?" It was a little mocking, but in the quiet and the darkness, it almost felt profound. God help him, stupidity might be transferable through physical contact after all. The head on his chest looked up and met his eyes, dazed. 

"Blackadder?" It was the first time Darling had correctly identified him, instead of as Doris. He wasn't sure if it was an improvement, since it'd probably lead to him kicking off about sharing a bed with him. At this point being called Doris was almost preferable.

"Yes. But you can just call me Doris again if you want." The stare he received back was uncomfortable and made him lean back. He should have just faked being asleep. 

"Thanks."

"What on earth for? Go back to sleep, you nitwit." 

"For being here." So quiet yet sincere. So strange that Darling would ever be glad for his presence. "It is lonely out here."

"Really, I always found it was the opposite. Too many idiots refusing to leave me alone for a single minute." Most of them were dead now. He was relieved it wasn't him, that he'd dodged it. He felt bad about the letters he'd have to write, full of nice, comforting lies, once he was better. About the gratitude he'd receive for his lies from their poor, pathetic families. Assuming that anyone in Baldrick's family could read, of course.

At least he wouldn't have to write one for Darling. Even if he'd, against all odds, have something both nice and genuine to put in it. It seemed like the kind of thing he'd have to make up, for want of anything to actually say. That Darling proved to be brave when nobody would know that he was, wouldn't know otherwise if he'd just left him there to die. 

"Why did you save my life?" Darling slowly opened his eyes again, looked up at him in confusion, then shut them again. 

"Maybe a spring wedding? Baby's breath in the bouquet." 

What? Oh. That was all on him for expecting a sensible response from someone who was apparently hallucinating. He must think he was Doris again, his lovely girlfriend taking care of him. Hell, she'd probably be there at the hospital within a day of his arrival. Darling seemed to be crazy about her. Hard to imagine she wouldn't feel the same about someone who cared for her so much. 

It should have made him feel contemptuous. Willingly wanting to get married was a kind of madness in his opinion. He'd always assumed if he got married, it'd be when he got marched down the aisle by force, thanks to some potential bastard Blackadder in waiting, after failing to wriggle his way out of it. Yet, he didn't. From the way he kept talking to her, the stupid mumbled endearments, the ridiculous plans, from the bouquet to the honeymoon to what vegetables he'd like to grow in the garden of the house they'd live in together, it seemed almost...sweet. 

What had his hopes been, before they went over the top? Ah, that was it. That he'd get out of it, and go on to marry her. Well, here was his chance. Good luck to him. He looked down, found Darling looking up at him. 

"She'll be a lucky woman to marry you. I wouldn't, of course, but then I'm not Doris. Despite what you keep saying." 

"Huh?"

"'Huh?' God, saying anything nice is wasted on you. Go back to sleep." 

"Blackadder?"

"What?" He wasn't prepared for Darling to beam at him, as if he was about to say something very clever. 'Beam' wasn't a word for him. Scowl, frown, twitch, these were all words he'd use to describe Darling. Beam wasn't. 

"I'm very lucky." The love in Darling's eyes surprised him. Strange to find that he was capable of it, even stranger to see it aimed at him, even as he was thinking of Doris. 

"Yes, you are lucky to find a woman who's willing to put up with you. Go on. Rest. She'll be coming to see you again soon." Darling sighed softly, as if he couldn't imagine anything better than seeing Doris again as he shut his eyes. Despite that, his grip remained tight, as if Edmund was in fact who he was dreaming of. 

The near silence as Darling slept, as he stayed awake, listened to the gentle slap of the waves against the hull of the ship. Edmund, unaccountably, felt lonely. His arms were still around Darling, even if the sea was gentle enough tonight that there was no risk of them falling out of the bed like in the ambulance. Despite that, he didn't let go of him. Darling was physically there, pressed up close against him but his thoughts were far away, with the one he loved. 

He felt envious. Strange to feel envious of someone he'd always held in such contempt. His fingers idly moved to Darling's hair, carded through the strands of it. Darling stayed asleep as he did. That was for the best, didn't know how he'd explain it. It felt good to hold someone, even if it was Darling. Even if he thought he was Doris. 

Fancy that. He was the lonely bastard out of them after all, not Darling. Quite the bugger, really. He preferred being a lone agent, a free man who didn't answer to anyone. Being so desperate for human contact he'd take it from Darling was pathetic. Yet here he was. 

Maybe it was time. The older soldiers always said it'd get him eventually, and he'd always treated the suggestion with contempt. Perhaps they were right. Shagging around was fun, very fun, but maybe he didn't want to do it forever. Maybe he'd want a ball and chain eventually. Old soldiers always did, they said. Too worn out from military life to stay alone once they were out of it. A wife. A cottage in the country. He thought about it.

Nah.

It was ridiculous. Him, married with a little lady in the countryside like all his old commanding officers, getting bossed around by her once she'd trapped him in marriage after previously being sweet as anything. The idea made him snort. At least he wasn't that far gone. Leave that fate for the Darlings of this world. 

Something else, maybe. Maybe something with another man. The thought came to him, probably thanks to Darling curled up against his chest, content as a cat who'd robbed a dairy, even in his feverish state. He dismissed it. It was something he did out of desperation, wasn't opposed to but wasn't how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Although, they wouldn't be able to gang-press him into marriage. That was something he hadn't considered before.

Well. Perhaps it wasn't a complete write-off then. He just needed someone smart, cunning, funny, and handsome too. Someone who could hold his own in arguments, enjoyed trading insults and didn't take it personally. Someone he could respect as an equal. 

Someone who was, well, him. It was probably too much to ask for. A perfect specimen like himself didn't show up often.

* * *

"After that, you stopped talking. By the time the ship docked, you looked awful. Not how you usually look awful, more like you were about to meet your maker. They took you off first, put you straight into an ambulance and off you went. Well, I thought, that's that. That's the last I'll see of him, even if he lives." 

Blackadder paused, crooked his arm towards Kevin to rub his fingers in front of Kevin's face. He responded automatically, took out a cigarette and put it into Blackadder's fingers without thinking about it. "Light as well, Darling." Kevin struck the match, lit up the cigarette and watched Blackadder inhale. He was stupefied by the story. It was even more unlikely than the previous one. Blackadder blew out a cloud of smoke, scratched behind his ear. 

"Imagine my surprise when I came back in one day and found you gawking at a painting. Really, hadn't I suffered enough? Not only were you alive, I wasn't able to get you to leave me alone."

"Why are you telling me this?" It was the question he'd been thinking the whole time. If Blackadder just wanted to embarrass him, which he had, he only needed to tell him about his delirium, how he'd been an idiot with the nurse and how he'd mistaken Blackadder for Doris. It hadn't been just that. Even with all the insults and sarcasm, it felt honest. Blackadder hadn't held back the parts that were awkward for himself, which was the biggest surprise. 

No, it felt like it came from the man he'd caught glimpses of before. Not Captain Blackadder. The man behind that title.

Edmund, perhaps. 

"God, I wish I knew. I'm already regretting it. Probably that bloody psychiatrist's fault, he's always going on about the truth and all that bollocks." His voice sounded confident but his hands were shaking. 

Kevin's heart sounded very loud in his ears. He didn't remember any of this story, not even the briefest flash of it. The mortification was there, at sharing a bed with Blackadder, at being a clingy idiot and thinking he was Doris, but it wasn't all he felt. 

Was that how it all started? Long before he realised it, without him even remembering it afterwards. Were the wires already crossed in him before he even arrived in England? 

Was it even a wrong number at all?

The thought made his hands shake too. All this time, he'd thought it started as a mix-up, even after conceding his feelings for Blackadder had since become genuine. Was it? 

He loved Doris, but he'd never needed her with that intensity until he woke up in the ward, yearning for human contact. Doris was nice, pretty, comfortable, unchallenging. She loved him and she'd make a good wife. She was what he thought he needed. He wanted to marry her because it seemed like a good idea as he went over the top to die. If they had married, it probably would have been a good idea, they probably could have lived with each other well enough. They would have had the house, the garden, a couple of children. He would have been content with that. 

The way Blackadder described him, gushing over her in his delirium, didn't sound like him at all, though he believed the story. Crazy in love? Gushing about her? Excitedly telling him he was lucky? He didn't talk about her like that and Doris wouldn't have recognised it either. They didn't have that kind of relationship. It never was, before he woke up here needing Doris so badly, as he'd never needed her before. Perhaps it hadn't been Doris he was talking about. 

Perhaps that incoming call was never for Doris at all. Maybe that was the mix-up in the first place. He put his hands together in a triangle in front of his face, covering his nose with them and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. 

His very first encounter with Blackadder popped into his mind. How, for a moment, he'd looked up from his desk, saw the visitor for General Melchett, and was impressed. The calm arrogance of his demeanour, none of the anxiety of the regulars. How smart he looked in his uniform, the dark eyes. It was commanding. He even smelt relatively clean for someone stuck in a trench. It lasted right until Blackadder turned to him and said:

'Are you the latest oink working as Melchett's personal arse kisser?'

It was the most infuriating thing anyone had ever said to him. How Blackadder nailed him in one sentence, had his measure within moments of meeting him and didn't give a flying fig if it offended him. He immediately hated Blackadder like he'd never hated anyone else before. From then on, he was obsessed with taking him down. Nothing could have brought him more pleasure. 

Oh, god. He'd been attracted to Blackadder from the first moment he'd seen him. From this distance, without the threat of constant death hovering over him, it was obvious. Even when Blackadder immediately insulted him. Maybe even because of it, the way it made him absolutely livid and feel something that wasn't fear or contempt. It never would have been so consuming otherwise. 

It wasn't a mix up, crossed telephone lines. No, it was a seed instead, ready to grow in the right environment. It needed to grow here, not in France. Surprisingly, considering who his feelings were for, it was delicate and needed peace to grow.

"Anyway, I see from your silence you've wisely decided you don't want to talk about this. Great! Let's never mention it again." Kevin dropped his hands, turned to look at Blackadder who was stubbing out his cigarette. His hands were still shaking. The rest of him was all calm and confident, even arrogant, but his hands gave him away. It was all Kevin needed. He reached over and took Blackadder's hands into his. Blackadder lifted his head up, met his eyes. A storm passed over it, conflicted emotions, before he shook his head. 

"Nope." 

"What?"

"I'm not doing this."

"Not doing what?"

"Look, I know how this goes. You've been stuck in here for months, no new woman for you to fixate on after Doris ditched you. I've been the closest thing you've had to a friend here, and with nowhere else for your feelings to go, they've gone 'oh, I guess I'm in love with Blackadder'."

"How did you-"

"Darling, did you really think I made a lucky guess about you keeping your letters from Doris? Of course I checked your tin." Oh. Of course he had. How had he ever believed it was just a lucky guess? He was an idiot. The realisation that he'd fallen for it, hook line and sinker, made him as furious as Blackadder pawing through his most personal belongings.

"You bastard, why did you do that?" Blackadder looked at him and shrugged in a manner that was as infuriating as it ever was.

"I thought it might be good for a laugh. It wasn't, Doris writes very dull letters, and your diary is just as dreary. I gave up after a month. How often can one man write about the weather?" 

"They're private and you knew that!" 

"Anyway, I saw the postcard on top of her photo." A smirk spread on his face. "So much for 'I doubt anyone will be buying it for your face, Blackadder'. I told you I was irresistible. I just didn't expect to be irresistible to you." The smirk grew wider, and Kevin suddenly, for all his other feelings, wanted to punch him. It made him tighten his grip on Blackadder's hands with a glare. It didn't intimidate Blackadder at all. It was hard to be threatening while holding someone else's hands for a confession which he'd been thoroughly diverted from. 

"Are you done yet?"

"I thought you enjoyed the arguing." Wait. In all the excitement about his own feelings, about Blackadder being a git who read his personal correspondence, he had nearly forgot, but that reminded him. It reminded him of Blackadder on the ship back, considering if another man would be a better choice.

"Blackadder, aren't you the one who wanted someone to argue with? Someone you enjoyed trading insults with, someone smart and cunning?" That knocked the smugness off Blackadder's face, made him shrink back a little. "Someone you could respect as an equal?" 

It was part of the reason they found each other so infuriating. They were equals, matched each other in smarts when everyone else around them was an idiot. Was it out of line to think it could be him, that he could be the man that Blackadder settled down with? 

"Blackadder...no, Edmund. Are you in love with me?" Blackadder – Edmund stiffened up. It wasn't the first time he'd got one over on Edmund, but it was the first time he'd reacted to it like a rabbit in headlamps. Whatever counteroffensive he'd planned, it wasn't for this. 

"Why on earth would you think-"

"That's why you told me those stories today, isn't it? Why else would you tell me you consider men attractive? Why else would you tell me that you didn't mind holding me, even liked it? If you just wanted to explain how I saved you and make me look like an idiot too, you would have left out every part that made you look bad." Edmund looked away, took a deep breath like he was really struggling. He probably was. 

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully and don't interrupt me. Yes, okay, the last few months have been rather...challenging. I might find you less unbearable than I used to, and dare I say it, even enjoy spending time with you when you're not being a bloody nuisance. I might even want to shag you." Edmund's hands were shaking in his hands again. "But this is just a passing fancy for you. It only could have happened here. There's no other way you would have ever woken up one morning and decided that you were in love with me. It's not going to survive out in the real world. I realise this house has been your entire world for the last few months, but you're leaving. There's going to be women out there, women like...god, I can't remember her name. That nurse who's interested in you."

"You think Sister Lewis is interested in me?" That was like saying Queen Mary was interested in him, and just about as likely. Edmund looked at him like he was being incredibly thick. 

"Of course she is, she was angling for you to take her to that stupid Chaplin showing." It was absurd. Only someone who hadn't seen her defend her honour against any soldier stupid enough to try to damage it would think that she was interested in him. 

"That's not what happened there." It did, however, explain why Edmund stomped off afterwards. How thrilling. Edmund was jealous, for all his claims that he was expecting him to forget him as soon as he was discharged from the hospital. 

"It doesn't matter. There's going to be women for you to pick from again, and you can go through the whole lot. Marriage, a house, babies, all that rot. You'll rejoin the world again, and you'll find someone else. Frankly, I'm encouraging you to-" 

Kevin didn't wait for him to finish, already knew he was wrong. He leaned in, shut Edmund up with a kiss. Edmund didn't kiss him back, just let him do it until he pulled back. Had he misjudged? Edmund scowled, dropped Kevin's hands, and roughly pulled him in with both hands on his cheeks to kiss him properly. 

Oh. Not a misjudgement then. Excellent. That meant he could enjoy Edmund kissing him like he was incredibly angry with him but also didn't want to stop kissing him. It felt fitting that Edmund would kiss him like that, all things considered. It was even better for not having to fear he'd get a smack in the face afterwards. Kevin sunk into it, hand resting on the nape of Edmund's neck, keeping him close as he kissed back. When Edmund pulled back, dropped his hands suddenly as if he'd been proving a point that was now fully proved, they were both flushed. 

"Baby's breath." It came to him suddenly, made Edmund look at him like he'd cracked. 

"I beg your pardon."

"You said I suggested Baby's breath in the wedding bouquet. I think they're nice, but Doris always hated them in bouquets. She thought they were vulgar." 

"Well, there you go then, another reason to be glad you're shot of her." The wind rustled the trees behind them, and Edmund slowly shifted back on the bench. Still flushed, but not angry. Not that far away, but further than he'd been before. "After reading her letters, I think you're well rid of her." 

"I'm still not happy about that."

"You'll get over it, Darling." It sounded like a real endearment, teasing him but with a touch of affection that hadn't been there before. It made his ears burn. "There's one thing she got right, though. 'I think you would be happier with someone else who loves you as you are now.' She missed that the person you are now might be better than who you were before, but she's still right that you'd be happier with someone else than with her." Kevin, even all these months later, still carried that fear with him. That he wasn't good enough, that he was unlovable now compared to who he was before. 

Edmund wasn't the type to say it to be nice, it wasn't in his nature. There was nothing for him to gain from it, which meant that he meant it. It finally lifted that weight from his shoulders, made him lean to kiss him again. Both as thanks and because he could now. Edmund accepted it, but only briefly before he turned away.

"It's not me. I'm not that someone else." 

"Come see me in London." Edmund turned back to him, looking tired. "You don't believe I'll still love you outside, do you? I'll prove it. Come see me in London. There's millions of women there, and I'll still want you. I'll be waiting for you on Endell Street." Edmund shut his eyes, took a deep breath as if Kevin was trying his patience. He probably was and he didn't care in the slightest. If Edmund believed that he was going to ditch him as soon as he left, then he'd just have to prove him wrong. Edmund's eyes contained a challenge in them as they met his again. Edmund thought he was being a fool. 

"Fine. I'll come see you. Then we'll see who's right." 

"Oh, I think you'll be surprised."

* * *

The rain was going to drain out their goodbyes. It was falling like sheets, drumming against the earth, against the house. The onset of it had made Kevin pause while he was packing his bag, ready to leave. It lashed against the window, battering to be let in. 

They waited under the portico, the only two people braving the elements. Kevin had said all his goodbyes, apart to the person who mattered most. 

"I don't understand how people can live up here. It never stops raining, there's hideous coal mines and mills everywhere, and worst of all, the endless parades of bloody self-made men with a chip on their shoulders the size of Mercury. Really, it's got it all." Kevin looked up at the sky, trying to see if it was lessening at all. It in fact seemed to be getting worse. "Looking forward to getting back to civilization?" 

"I guess so." His lack of certainty shined through in his voice and made Edmund shake his head. 

"By the time your train pulls into Euston, you'll forget this place existed." 

"I won't." Edmund shook his head again, as if he was so much older and wiser than him. It was incredibly annoying.

"You're getting sentimental." It wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion since their confessions by the pond. There hadn't been much time afterwards, his railway warrant arrived the next day and he'd spent the rest of the time getting ready, chasing loose ends. There was one last walk in the woods where the deer lived. It'd felt like the end of an era, even if Kevin was certain it wasn't the last time they'd walk together like that. Once they were into the woodland, Edmund had let him take his arm. It felt right, to walk arm in arm with Edmund, lean on him when his leg started to get too stiff. Edmund even let him kiss him in the dark privacy of the trees every time he'd tried, despite their arguing and despite the fact he called him an idiot each time he did it.

Edmund was still convinced their relationship couldn't survive outside of the hospital. Kevin was convinced that it could. Neither of them were prepared to concede.

"I'm not, I'm being realistic."

"If you were being realistic, I wouldn't be forced to have this conversation with you again." The sight of Kevin's transport arriving stopped Kevin from replying. Stopped Edmund too, before he started laughing. 

It was horse-drawn, but that wasn't the funny part. The funny part was the vehicle the horses were pulling. It was a butcher's van. 

"Oh, even for this lot, this is a little too on the nose, surely?" Kevin felt a tinge of horror – god, he hoped they'd cleaned it up properly inside – before Edmund's laughter spread to him too. He shook a little, tried to hold it back before it escaped. "Those poor sods they're picking up from the train. It's almost sadistic at this point." It pulled up, the driver leaned over, out of the protection of the canvas over his head, to yell to them.

"Is that Darling? I'm here to take you to the station!" Kevin nodded, considered how quickly he could run in the rain to stop himself getting completely soaked. A tap on his arm made him look at Edmund, in time to see him put the umbrella up. 

"I didn't think-"

"What, you think I care about that? I've spent enough time soaked through to the skin, as if I care what a bunch of idiots think of keeping dry." Edmund picked up his bag with his free hand, gestured for Kevin to start walking. "Better hurry up, your driver's got another load of bollocks to pick up after this."

"Ha ha." Kevin ducked under the umbrella and walked out under it with Edmund. It wasn't quite large enough for two grown men, the rain got on his shoulder. He had to squeeze up against Edmund to not get soaked. The light brush of his shoulder felt reassuring, even as he reached out and opened the back of the van, ready for whatever horror it might contain.

A couple of bunk beds were installed inside. Otherwise it was empty, no blood or guts. There was nobody else either. The relief rushed through him, heard the bag lifted into the van for him, before he turned to look at Edmund. He looked serious, before giving Kevin a half-smile.

"Best of luck, Captain Darling." He nodded, didn't get into the van like he was supposed to at the words. He knew he was going to see Edmund again, but parting felt painful. To finally leave this haven, to not wake up tomorrow and know he'd see Edmund again, whatever the circumstances of the day. He wanted to kiss him. It must have shown in his face from the way Edmund suddenly thrust his hand out for him. To shake. 

Kevin took it, shook it like there was nothing more to it. Despite the look in Edmund's eyes, wistful, perhaps sad, like he'd already lost him. He squeezed Edmund's hand before Edmund dropped it sharply. 

"Write to me when you get there, Darling." Not the slightest hint of a taunt in it. It made his heart ache as he stepped up into the van. 

"I will. Come by when you can." Edmund looked like he was having second thoughts. Real ones, not the overdramatic, contemptuous ones he used to have. Kevin was starting to recognise that look and it made him nervous but determined as he dropped his voice. "Please. I swear I'll be waiting." 

"Oh, god. If you insist." His heart wasn't in the contempt in his voice. Edmund's eyes gave it away. Resigned but fond with it. "Take care." Edmund shut the doors before he could reply. The horses started to trot, and there was just enough of a gap in the doors to see Edmund walking away, umbrella down, not looking back. Kevin couldn't say it, not even to his departing back. He'd read too many letters home filled with them, by men who were breathing when they wrote them, dead by the time their words reached their families.

Goodbye. 

Too final. He never wanted to say it to Edmund.


	7. Smoke lingers 'round your finger

London was disorientating. Even the journey, with how the compartment started to slowly fill up as the train chugged its way south, the reappearance of people who weren't soldiers or medical staff, hadn't prepared him for climbing down out of the carriage and finding himself at Euston. The rush of people pushing past him, running for the next train, the Underground, the omnibus, the tram. It was more people than he'd seen in months and all of them needed to go somewhere else. 

Kevin took his time, with his bag and walking stick. He saw the difference as he reached the platform exit, both in himself and the world around him. The women ticket inspectors, much nicer than the surly men before the war, smiled at him pleasantly. But the respect he'd previously received without qualification while in his uniform was tinted now with a hint of pity. Poor man. Terribly young to have a limp like that. 

That was the other thing that surprised him, as he cautiously walked his way across to King's Cross, weaving through the hectic crowd of commuters and shoppers. It wasn't something he'd noticed on his previous leave, too caught up in the excitement of being home, of forcing his way back into his old life like he'd never been gone. All the men who were gone, all the women who'd stepped into their places. When he'd said there were millions of women in London to Edmund, it'd felt like an exaggeration. It wasn't. It was completely true. 

Perhaps that was why Edmund had been so sceptical. He wouldn't have missed that there were unattached women everywhere in London, enough for even the choosiest man to find one he liked. 

The Underground was even worse. He'd arrived at the start of rush hour, found himself carried in the tide of people heading inside, only just managed to switch direction to the Piccadilly Railway platforms. He took a breather against a wall, his back pressed up tight to it as crowds of people rushed down the escalators onto the platforms. It was overwhelming. He was completely unprepared. 

It was hardly a war. It was just a lot of commuters, something he'd previously navigated with ease. Maybe he could just stand here until everyone else went home. No. He thought of rescuing Edmund under fire. He could be brave. He just needed to screw up his courage, ignore the urge to hide until it all went away. It wasn't life or death, just the rush hour. He could do this. 

With a deep breath, he took his first step. Then another, and another. He made it to the escalators. He made it onto the train, even if the train seemed to pull into the platform faster than he remembered. The Gatewoman let him on, the final passenger allowed to board before she slammed the gate shut behind him. 

"No trouble Captain, no trouble at all." Another sign of how different it was, yet in the carriage, despite the changes, some things remained the same. The screech of the metal against the rail as the train cornered, the sway of the strap-hangers as they read the evening papers with rapt attention. The adverts, the steely silence of the commuters.

The lifts at Covent Garden, still slow, even with the eagerness of the woman manning them to get them all moving, shouting over their heads to keep all coats and arms away from the gates. Kevin was crammed up against the wall, looked up at the posters pasted up on it. Music hall, variety shows, plays, someone who did silly voices with his own show. 

The last time he'd been here was with Doris. Funny, that. She'd been so excited to come into town, see a show at the Lyceum. They'd been in one of the lifts together, possibly even this one, just as tightly packed as it was today. She'd held onto his arm to stop them getting separated as they got pushed into the corner. It didn't hurt to think of it. It seemed like a story from someone else's life.

He tried to recall how he'd felt as she held onto him. If he'd tried before, back on the ward, he would have said it felt like the most important thing in the world. That he hadn't been able to think about anything else, her touch was the only thing that mattered.

As the lift started to go up to the street, it came back to him. He had been distracted. Someone was jabbing their elbow into him, and there was a man with a very annoying cough near him. There was a poster, selling something that he'd been vaguely interested in and couldn't remember now. He was hoping the lead man in the production wasn't the one they'd seen in that other production, the one who thought his moustache made up for his lack of talent. He had hardly noticed her at all. Doris could have been holding onto someone else entirely and it would have made no difference whatsoever. 

Curious how he'd forgot that in the ward. Maybe Doris was the one he'd been clinging to out of sheer desperation after all. He thought of Edmund. Thought how he'd feel with Edmund holding onto him in the lift, right now. The thought made his ears burn, at the image of his hand on his arm, even for something as innocent as that. Why was it always his bloody ears that went hot when Edmund was involved? 

The lift gates rattled open and everyone piling off dragged him along with them in a surge. The rush carried him into the street. He broke free of the crowd outside the station, took a moment to breath and think about where he had to go next. 

The shiny ox-blood coloured tiles of the station. The street lights flickering on. The newspaper placards with news of war, of scandal. The barrage balloons hovering in the distance. The soot in the air. He thought of Edmund emerging from the station too, passing the flower girls, the hawkers, confident in where he was going. Going to him. The thought made something squeeze tightly inside him. 

London had changed, was deeply disorientating to return to after being away for so long, but it was still recognisable.

Just like him. Just like his new life.

* * *

The new job fitted him like a glove. He stepped into the role and commanded the forces of order over the chaos his predecessor had left behind. The office was swiftly re-organised, the filing system changed, people expected to return from their lunch breaks instead of spending the afternoon in the pub and claiming it as incidentals.

Nobody had taken the role seriously in a long time and it showed. Kevin was determined to get the supplies office into shape. He was starting to see progress, even if the junior staff were muttering about the good old days. Supplies were arriving more quickly, in the correct quantities, and unauthorised taking of stationery was on a steep decline. It was going to be a well-oiled machine, ready to do its part, and even better, keep him in London. 

He'd made sure of it. The filing system was beautiful, but he was the only one who understood how it worked in its entirety. There was no point in putting himself out of a job. 

Even with the threat of air raids, the reality of shortages and rationing, as much as they made civilians fear and grumble, London felt like a relief after the front-lines. It wasn't the haven that the hospital had been though. War still lingered in the corners, could be felt everywhere in a way it wasn't there. As soon as they stepped out of the house, they were away. 

On the night he arrived he wrote to Edmund as he'd promised. It didn't contain the longing he felt, even if it'd only been a few hours since they parted. It was brief, focused on his safe arrival and what his new lodgings were like. It was a large room in a house split into lodgings behind the tobacconist at the front. The landlady was disinterested, didn't say anything about what visitors were allowed, didn't seem curious about her tenants. That suited him well. 

He posted the letter with lightness in his heart, thinking of the invitation at the end of it. _'Feel free to drop by when you can.'_ It'd be a week, not much more than that, until he saw Edmund again. He could wait that long.

Each morning he woke up, he felt surprised by finding himself alone in London. The noise of the carts and vehicles going to and from the market, the cry of costermongers, barrow boys. The noises of industry, of cabs rattling down the street. Of people waking up, going to work. The only wildlife were the sad looking trees planted in the street and the chirping of the house sparrows building a nest in the guttering of the house. 

It felt like another world. Strange to think that until this week, he'd been living in the countryside, far away from all this, even with Manchester on the doorstep. Strange to think he'd fallen in love there. 

Strange to think that a few months ago, he was being sent over the top in France to die.

The wait stretched on. The week passed, and he hadn't heard from Edmund. Nothing to worry about yet, he'd only just arrived in London too. He probably had lots to sort out, get used to his new job before he had time to come see him. It wasn't anything to get concerned about. 

The second week passed more slowly. The thought that Edmund knew this part of London better than he did, would have walked the same streets he was walking now, was providing less of a comfort than it did before. He tried to picture him on the street, passing him by, but when he did, that imaginary Edmund didn't always stop for him now. Sometimes he walked right by him. Off to somewhere else, to another life.

Kevin hadn't taken Edmund's second thoughts seriously. At the hospital, it seemed like Edmund's doubts were all focused on him. If he'd stick this out, if he would remain interested in Edmund outside of the closed off environment they were in, not change his mind once he started to see more women again. On that, Kevin felt certain then, and even more certain now he was here and still in love with Edmund. 

Now Kevin was starting to wonder if Edmund had doubts about himself too.

It seemed unlikely. That monstrous ego of his should have made the thought of self-doubt laughable. Captain Blackadder, unsure of himself? Impossible. Whatever the circumstances, he trusted himself and nobody else. 

And yet. He thought of how Edmund's hands shook when he was waiting for his reply. Self-doubt wasn't beyond him. It was rare, but possible. Was Edmund having doubts about his own commitment? About starting anything more serious than a one-time affair with another man? About Kevin, about his own feelings towards him?

Edmund never said anything about his own feelings changing after they were discharged from the hospital. The way he kept pushing Kevin to forget him, to go find someone else instead of continuing it, suggested he thought Kevin would be the one to have a change in heart, not himself. 

But. It was Edmund. Apparent changes in heart, previously sincerely held opinions not being what he meant at all, were all part and parcel of how he operated. In the hospital, Kevin hadn't doubted if he was being honest. Kevin assumed that he couldn't pull the wool over his eyes. In anything that wasn't an affair of the heart like this was, he'd still be certain Edmund couldn't. On this, he couldn't be so sure. 

It would, after all, be completely in-character for Edmund to do it to get one over on him. Get him vulnerable, wait for him to fall for him, string him along for a while and then dump him. The words came back to him, from that time Edmund was complaining about being pursued. 

'Some sweet words, a little dancing, tell her she's not like any woman you've ever met before, that you couldn't possibly live without her, and she'll be gagging for a bit of how's your father.' 

Shit. Had Edmund decided to do that to him too? Not quite the same, hadn't made it to the how's your father, but the outline of it alarmed him. Had he fallen for a plot that was designed to break his heart, to humiliate him? Kevin shut his eyes, sat down on his bed as he rubbed his face with his hands. He took a deep breath. 

Then he remembered. Christmas. Sitting on Edmund's bed, in the same pose, hands over his face, in despair. Expecting the worst from him. Edmund could have devastated him there, completed his plan for humiliation at that point. He hadn't. He'd been kind instead, had taken care of him, if in a strange way. The thought made him take his hands off his face again, get a cigarette and light it up for himself. Needed to take the edge off. 

If it was a con, it was a very, very long con. One that made Edmund look as vulnerable as he was. It seemed unlikely that Edmund would tolerate that, even in pursuit of a long term goal, if he could avoid it. Which he could have, easily. Kevin inhaled, felt the smoke in his lungs. Edmund could have just gone straight to seducing him. He probably would have said yes after enough pushing. There was no need to make himself vulnerable in the process. Sure as hell hadn't when he was shagging that nurse in the field hospital. 

Kevin exhaled, watched the smoke drift up again. He wanted to believe in Edmund. That if he was having second thoughts that were delaying him from coming here, that they were genuine, not part of some plot against him. That he'd let him know. It felt strange to have his heart so completely in someone else's hands. The hands of someone who he never used to trust, who he'd assumed always operated in bad faith. 

God, he hoped he had made the right decision.

* * *

By the third week, Kevin was starting to accept that Edmund was having second thoughts, if he hadn't decided to end the whole thing. Work was the only thing going well for him. His room turned from the room that Edmund would come to, where they could be together again, to a normal room, disappointing and ordinary. The rush of London felt alienating, everyone but him with somewhere to go, something important to do. 

He stared at the posters in the lift at Covent Garden station, and wondered if this would be the rest of his war. The rest of his life. Stretching out much as he'd feared it would back on the ward. Had he lost what he'd survived for again? How many times could he cope with it happening?

"Evening, captain! Waiting for the all-clear again?" He blinked, startled out of his thoughts by the lift attendant. She grinned at him. She was starting to recognise him, distinctive with his uniform and limp, the way he waited until the crowd surged pass him to get out. "Better be quick, they'll all be coming in to go home from the other side!" She paused, gave him a questioning look. "I'm about to open the entry gates. Better hurry." He didn't. He wondered what on earth he had to hurry for. She sighed, looked exasperated in the way Hilda always did when she thought he was being particularly thick, even though he was her older brother and therefore knew better than her. "You want to spend your life going up and down in the lifts here? I don't, and I get paid for it! Chin up, it isn't that bad."

"Really?" At least she'd not resorted to 'worse things happen at sea'. 

"Really! You're alive. Come on, get moving or else I'm going to have the boss coming to give me an earful." Kevin forced himself out of the lift, heard the entry gates open behind him as he stepped out into the ticket hall, the shudder of the exit gates closing behind him. "See you tomorrow!" 

Yes, he was alive. It might be trite, but it was worth remembering. This was a second chance he never expected to get. He had expected to die and he hadn't. Whatever the future brought, he had one. He handed his ticket over to the ticket inspector without really seeing her, stepped forward before pausing as the next lift arrived. The wave of people rushing out made him hold back, wait for them to subside. Kevin didn't enjoy fighting through crowds, still felt uncertain with his limp. The crowd exited the ticket hall, and Kevin glanced over to the other lift as the exit gates were pulled shut. Just one person waiting for their ticket to be checked. 

His heart constricted. Edmund casually handled the ticket over, didn't wait to get it back before walking. Kevin wanted to call out, felt his voice catch in his throat. Just like he'd imagined, Edmund confident in where he was going as he exited. Until he stopped, frowned and turned to him. 

A flash of surprise on his face, as if he hadn't expected to see Kevin here, before it shifted to a smile. Guarded, but real. 

"Ah, Captain Darling. Of course." 

"Blackadder." It wasn't enough, he couldn't say the words he wanted to say. Wouldn't have been able to say them in public like this anyway. 

"Come on, show me this new place of yours then. I'm dying of suspense." It was like normal, picking up from when he'd left like nothing had happened. Like Edmund hadn't left him in a lurch for weeks. It should have been infuriating that there was no explanation, not even an apology, but it was too much of a relief. Kevin was just glad he was there. 

"Righto." 

Kevin stepped forward, followed Edmund out of the station. This time he didn't march ahead, instead dropping back to match Kevin's pace. Edmund, there again, walking the same streets as him, but now next to him instead of a memory that wasn't even from his life. The silence between them felt like on their walks, despite how different the environment was, the noise and chaos of the streets. It felt reassuring. Even here in London, they slotted together just like before. 

No explanations for the long silence were offered as they walked to his lodgings. Kevin tried to subtly watch Edmund's face, and saw that Edmund was watching him. There was confidence on his face, but there was more to it. Edmund's eyes didn't match it. Was it uncertainty? It didn't look like the expression of someone about to ruin his life for fun anyway. Kevin felt reassured of that at least.

They arrived at his lodgings, slipped inside without being noticed by his deeply incurious landlady as Kevin took him up to his room. Kevin opened his door, stepped inside and opened the door wider. Opened it to Edmund to join him, just like he'd imagined. 

Edmund stepped in cautiously, looked around as Kevin shut and locked the door behind him. His heart was pounding. He knew what he was hoping for, wasn't sure if he would get it. With Edmund finally here, it felt possible. 

"Well, it's certainly not the Savoy." Kevin didn't reply. It wasn't, that was a couple of streets away from here, but there was still nowhere else he'd rather be. Instead he stepped closer to Edmund, lifted his cap off his head. Edmund's eyes glanced up, followed the cap as he put it on the hat-stand next to the door. His hands felt shaky as he reached for Edmund's greatcoat, from need as much as nerves. He wanted Edmund here, wanted to touch him, wanted to undress him. He undid the buttons, hands clumsily before lifting it up off Edmund's shoulders, with a shrug to help him get it off from Edmund. It went onto the hat-stand too. 

Kevin paused. Looked at Edmund, his jacket still on. He reached out, let his fingers brush down to the top button. He worked the button undone, worked each button undone even with his fingers so eager to touch him that it made them even more clumsily. He moved his hands to take the jacket off, reached the shoulders before his hands dipped inside, under the jacket. His hands touched the shirt, felt the warmth of Edmund's skin under it. He looked up, met Edmund's eyes. Darker than usual, watching him with a mixture of amusement, fondness and hunger. The uncertainty was gone. 

It was too much to resist. Kevin pulled him in by the shirt and kissed him. Hard, passionate, grabbing onto him like he'd never let go. Edmund didn't yield to it, grabbed onto his back and pulled him in close, up tight against him. Just like when he'd slipped on the ice, the same overwhelmed feeling from being held, with the pleasure of knowing Edmund wasn't about to let go. A hand moved to his chin, caressed it before tilting it, adjusting the angle of it before he pushed his way into his mouth, demanding, challenging, as if daring Kevin to stop him.

He didn't. He slid against Edmund's mouth with enthusiasm, let him shuffle him backwards towards the bed, only stopping to shed his greatcoat, pull his boots off. He heard Edmund fumble with his own boots, kick them off with a muffled curse against his mouth before pushing him to the bed. When he dropped onto the bed Edmund slowly let go of him, pushed him onto his back before finally breaking the kiss.

Kevin felt ravished. He'd thought about this, mostly when he was wanking off. It'd been rather exciting, but his imagination couldn't compare to the reality of Edmund being here now, shifting on the bed to climb on top of him. Their eyes met as Edmund leaned in, taking his tie off as he kissed his neck before shifting back to look at him again. 

"I was going to ask if you were up for a go, but you've made that clear. I wasn't expecting to be jumped the moment I walked in though." 

"Then you're an idiot." 

"Huh. Yes, I suppose someone as uptight as you would be that randy once they got loose." 

"It's been three weeks. Where the hell were you?" Edmund smirked. 

"I thought it'd be good to make you wait. You've been having far too easy a time of this, so it was your turn to sweat over it." Not even his own doubts or hesitation. Just one last urge to get one over on him. It was exactly what he should have expected, enough to send a mixture of rage and want through him that made him pull Edmund down into a hard kiss.

"You bastard." It would have sounded angrier if it wasn't against his lips. Edmund really was. He still wanted him. Edmund didn't take it seriously in the slightest, kissed along his neck again instead as he started to undo his jacket. 

"Now now, Darling. If you're mean to me, I might stop. You don't want that, do you?" He slid his jacket off him, and worked his tie and shirt off too. Edmund's hand against his skin, lingering for longer than it needed to before starting to drift its way down. The way Edmund was undressing him made his threat sound like complete bollocks. 

"You wouldn't." Kevin felt certain that this was one of Edmund's lies. He would have felt smug about catching Edmund out if his hand hadn't reached the growing bulge in his trousers and palming it through the fabric. It made him shudder, hips lifting up to press up against Edmund's hand as his cock swelled against it. 

"No. I'd much rather wreck you instead." Not a threat with how he was palming his cock. It was a promise that made Kevin's blood pound, didn't know what he was planning this time. He knew enough about how two men could do it, learnt it among many other things from the dirty talk that soldiers loved, but didn't know how they would do it. Edmund's hand moved away from his cock, pulled him off that train of thought onto wanting his hand to go back, immediately. 

He reached for his hand and tried to pull it back to his cock. Edmund ignored him, but let his hand stay on top of his, as he focused on pulling his trousers down instead. Kevin tried to pull it back to his cock, hard through his pants, again. This time Edmund shook his hand off and stopped touching him altogether. Damn it. It made Kevin frown and try to pull him back again. All the yearning for Edmund to touch him hadn't gone away in their time apart, only got worse in it, and to have him right there, up close to him and not touching him was unbearable. 

"You're very demanding." Amused, slightly exasperated. Kevin kicked his trousers off, annoyed at it taking so long as he shot back. 

"And you're a bloody tease." 

"Really, are you that desperate for me to touch you?" Now he felt exasperated too, if Edmund was going to be right over him, not touching him and asking him if he wanted it. It was taunting, but not like the way he used to taunt him. Too much heat in his voice, that turn of thickness in it. It sounded like Edmund wanted it too. His pride wasn't enough to stop him, not after spending so long aching to be touched. 

"Yes! Now stop arsing about." Kevin couldn't wait for the next retort, couldn't wait for the next move, couldn't wait on Edmund's mercy. He wrapped his legs around Edmund's waist and pulled him down by them. The sudden movement jarred his leg injury, but he hardly felt it. Not when the move made Edmund exhale sharply, move in to kiss him again as he started to pull his pants down. It would have been easier if he'd dropped his legs, but he refused to. Let Edmund do the hard work. He worked them down one leg at a time, pulling his feet through the holes, even as he called Kevin an idiot for it. He didn't care. It made Edmund touch him, run his hand along his legs, even if just to work them and the socks off.

The vest came off too, hiked up and off by Kevin this time, and there he was. Completely naked. Edmund paused, leaned back to take a look at him. The look made him feel more exposed than being naked did. He was used to being naked in communal situations, the inevitability of it in the army. He was not used to being looked at so closely. His blood pounded in his ears and he flushed. He felt nervous, anxiety shooting through him. He couldn't read why Edmund was staring. Did he look alright? Was seeing him naked enough to give Edmund second thoughts? It was hard to deny who he was with all his clothes off, with the ugly scarring on his right leg. He looked away from Edmund's considering, intense gaze, glanced down at his still clothed chest, wished he had all his clothes off too. It made him ache, both in his heart and his cock, to think about Edmund naked. God, he hoped Edmund felt the same about him. 

Edmund let out a slow breath, tilted Kevin's chin again to meet his eyes. Kissed him with a certainty, a confidence that Kevin tried to return. Words whispered against his ear as Edmund pulled back from kissing him, gave his cock a teasing stroke.

"You think that seeing you naked could put me off you? You're a fool. Do you think I imagined shagging you with all your clothes on?" Edmund paused, let a breath ghost over his ear. "That could be fun too, though. I should have done it before, bent you over that stupid desk of yours and rogered you to get you to stop trying to ruin my life." The image of Edmund bending him over his desk and fucking him made his cock throb against his hand, even as he flushed in embarrassment. He wanted that. Even wanted it at the time, though he didn't realise it then. "Interesting. Now I'm annoyed I didn't try it." 

"Wouldn't have let you mess up my paperwork like that." Sort of true. It would have been a pain to tidy up afterwards. "You can try it now though." His voice came out thick, slow as Edmund lifted his thighs off from around his waist, let them drop back down onto the bed. He spread his legs on instinct, even as it made his flush darker. Too turned on to feel embarrassed by it, not when Edmund looked at him hungrily. He reached for something out of his back pocket, handed it to Kevin as he took off his shirt and trousers. 

A vial of oil. Hair oil? Kevin wasn't sure why he had this, looked at Edmund with a hint of confusion, even through his arousal. Edmund looked up from pulling down his pants. 

"What?"

"Why are you giving me this?" Edmund shook his head, pulled his pants and socks off. 

"You think you'd like it dry? You're a moron." Kevin was too distracted by his nudity to be annoyed by the condescension. Edmund looked as good naked as he'd imagined. He was hard too, his cock proudly jutting out, pointing right at him. It made his mouth feel dry. Kevin reached out to touch his chest and ran his fingers down it. Edmund shivered, pulled the vial out of his fingers and shuffled back. "Turn over and on your knees." The command in his voice sent need coursing through Kevin. He awkwardly turned onto his front, the feeling of his cock pressed up against the mattress was good, so good it was tempting to just stay lying on it, even rub against it just to get more.

Better pleasures were waiting, though. He got up, shifted onto all fours. The pressure on his right knee made his leg hurt and Kevin winced in pain. He felt Edmund lean over him, pull the pillows down from the top of the bed. One dropped by his head, the other moved to wedge under his right knee. Edmund's hand rubbed his calf, as if to ease the pain. 

"Better?" 

"Yes." The unexpected care made him ache again. Edmund patted his leg, shifted his hand away. He heard Edmund open the vial, the anticipation of it making him wet his lips. The position felt even more exposed, arse up in the air, Edmund able to see everything. The press of Edmund's finger against his rim made him exhale, his head dropped down onto the pillow. The fingertip rubbed against his hole, spreading the warmed oil on it, ticklish before the finger dipped inside him. 

It felt strange, slightly invasive. He wasn't sure if he liked it as the finger pushed inside him. It wasn't bad or off-putting, but it didn't feel like Edmund touching his cock felt. The finger pushed in deeper, wriggled as if feeling for something. He could get used to it, he supposed, but it didn't feel anywhere as exciting as-

Oh god. It hit him so suddenly, so overwhelming as his vision went funny. Something like a yelp escaped him, smothered by the pillow. His whole body stiffened as all thoughts dropped out of his head. The finger moved again, pressed into whatever it was that sent a shudder through him. His legs shook, thighs trembled. He needed to get away, it was too much, it was so good, didn't want it to stop. His cock twitched as he tried to pull away, as Edmund slid another finger inside him too, held onto his hip to stop him getting away. A choked noise escaped him, managed to lift his head over his shoulder to look at Edmund. It was hard to see straight, with how whatever it was he was doing was making his vision and knees shake. 

"Edmund-" Choked it out. He needed him to stop, or else he was going to die. Every time he did it, his whole body shook. He could feel his face going red, overloaded by the sensation. Edmund looked almost sympathetic, but even more smug as he did it again, made his head drop back onto the pillow. "I'm going to-"

"Come?" The word, low, heated, teasing was teamed up with his fingers doing it again. He could just about manage to breathe, everything else felt too much. His cock was aching, pre-cum leaking out of his slit, the fullness of both fingers inside him shifting from strange to good, fulfilling. "Go on, then." The fingers moved again, thrust inside him and pressed down hard. His entire body froze. So overwhelmed by the shock-wave of pleasure, so intense that he nearly whited out, so strong that he collapsed into his orgasm, his knees giving in, without realising he'd come, that he was coming over the sheets messily with a strangled noise. He was coated in sweat, a collapsed heap on the mattress, face bright red and mind blown. 

Kevin didn't notice the fingers pulling out of him, too overwhelmed by how overwhelmed, how good he felt. What. What on earth was that? He'd come before, thousands of times, but nothing like that. His breath heaved in his chest as he considered it in stunned silence. Edmund hadn't even touched his cock. He felt a hand run along his back, rub along the curve of it as to reassure him. He managed to lift his head up, met Edmund's eyes.

Oh. Edmund was breathing fast too, there was want all over his face and in every line of his body. From him? The thought felt dizzying, too overwhelmed to fully enjoy it, but it stirred him.

"Edmund?" He sounded completely fucked out, and Edmund hadn't even put his cock in him yet. The thought made him flush. If it was anything like whatever that was, he was going to love it. 

"You liked that?" Kevin wondered how to answer that, if the proof that he did in how he was completely collapsed and flushed on the bed wasn't enough. Edmund carried on. Rhetorical, then. Good. "You're so highly strung, I always thought it'd be explosive when you lost control. I just didn't think you'd lose control like this, until I did." Edmund pulled him in for a kiss, fierce, passionate. "You think that was good? Just wait till you see what else I can do."

"Oh, god." He might die in the process, but it was a sacrifice Kevin was willing to make. Edmund grabbed the pillow from under his head, pushed it under his stomach to lift his arse up again. "You're going to kill me."

"Only la petite mort. Lift your hips up." Kevin obeyed, lifted his hips up, felt his arse sticking out. Felt Edmund rub his cock against his hole, slick with the oil. It sent lust surging through him. Edmund was about to push in, stick his cock inside him roger him, fuck him. It made his hips tremble. Even the tip of his cock felt like too much after that, didn't stop him from wanting it. He wriggled, shook his arse, and Edmund let out a groan as he pushed into him.

His cock was bigger than his fingers. Even more filling, no hesitation as he sunk balls deep into his arse. It felt like too much, stretching him too far. It felt overwhelming, more intense than he'd ever imagined. He whined, heard Edmund mutter "fuck" under his breath before he pressed down on top of him and started to fuck him. The thrusts made him shudder, until Edmund did it again and his vision went white. 

It was too much. He let out a choked sob, it didn't stop Edmund fucking him at all. Didn't want it to stop him, too much and yet he needed it, wanted it, pushed his arse deeper back onto his cock. It just made Edmund lean over, press all his weight against his back as he fucked him, did it again, made him freeze and his cock swell up again in a way it shouldn't have been able to. 

Edmund's breathing heavy in his ear as he fucked him. His cock aching from what Edmund was doing with his dick, how he kept making his vision go as he filled up his arse. His whole body trembling as Edmund sped up, pounded into him. The slap of his balls against his arse, the weight of him on top of him, pressing him down. 

Another strike, the overwhelming want and need of that press, then another, and then he came again without a single touch of his cock. The force made him collapse under Edmund, made Edmund collapse on top of him with a groan as he felt him coming. 

Kevin was undone. Probably dying, from how intense that was. From how he could feel Edmund's cock twitching in his arse as he came, even through the overwhelming nature of his orgasm. Filling him up with his spunk. The thought felt strange, satisfying. When Edmund pulled out, finished, collapsed alongside him, he missed it. 

The two of them lay there, next to each other, out of breath. Kevin was satisfied, worn out, reeling from how good it'd been. The change from that first finger, uncertain if it was for him or not, to this. It felt amazing. It felt right. 

He felt happy. Exhausted, a little overwhelmed, but happy. Happy to lie there for a while longer, let the relief and satisfaction soak into him.

Edmund moved first, pulled himself up to sit up. 

"I need a cigarette." Kevin reached over, got the packet alongside the ashtray and matches he'd kept next to the bed in hope for this. Edmund took one as he struck the match, lit it for him before he pulled back, inhaled with satisfaction. "God, I need to get back to only smoking after sex again. It's always best then." Kevin nodded, worked out his own cigarette and put it in his mouth. Edmund leaned in, lit it with his own cigarette. Their eyes met for a moment, understanding passing between them, before Edmund leaned back, and Kevin shifted to lie back down on the bed. "I like being a twenty a day man." Kevin laughed, watched the smoke from his cigarette drift upwards. 

"That's ambitious at your age."

"At my age? You're saying that like I didn't just give you the best fucking of your sorry little life." Kevin snorted, but his cheeks went hot too. Edmund wasn't wrong about it being the best sex he'd had. 

"Spoils it a bit if you immediately keel over afterwards." 

"Ha ha." He felt too relaxed to keep taunting Edmund, even if it was fun to do. He enjoyed it, the back and forth, hoped that this wouldn't change that. From how Edmund was behaving, he didn't think it would. He lay there and smoked for a while longer, let the contentment sink into him. It did feel best after sex, he hadn't had the chance to really try it before. Never had enough time to, in the fugitive time they'd managed to sneak away with each other, or Doris complained about the smell too much to enjoy it. 

He looked over at Edmund. He was distracted, staring into space. One knee raised, forming a triangle with his leg, one hand holding onto that knee, the other leg stretched out next to it. The other hand pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, to tap the ash from it into the ashtray resting on the bed between them. Kevin reached out, stroked his arm without thinking much more about it than wanting to touch him. 

Edmund glanced at him, raised his eyebrows, asking him a question without saying it out loud. Kevin said the first thing on his mind.

"You're very attractive like this." 

"Ah." Edmund seemed surprised by this statement as he put the cigarette back between his lips. He wasn't sure why. Edmund was very attractive, sitting around smoking in his bed, completely naked, like he was always supposed to be here. He didn't look like those naked statues in the art room at school, in the hallway of the house, but Kevin liked that too. Edmund looked like a real person, someone who he could touch. He did it again, ran his fingers along Edmund's side lightly. "Good to see your eyes are working properly. I am devastatingly handsome." 

"Hmm, quite." He probably wasn't supposed to agree, from the slight hint of red he saw on Edmund's cheeks in response, but he did. Devastatingly handsome was right. Edmund exhaled, waved the smoke away from his face before he continued. 

"I thought you might hesitate, faced with the reality of being with another man. Be a bit of a coward and have to be coaxed into it. I was fully prepared for it, ready to talk you into it like one of those nice girls who wants it but needs a bit of attention first." Edmund rubbed at his neck, paused for a moment. "Instead you grabbed me as soon as I got in. Should have bloody known. You really are disgustingly brave when you want to be, Darling." 

"Kevin."

"I don't know, I quite like Darling. Don't you like me calling you that?" Kevin gave him the eye, blew out some more smoke. He did now it wasn't exclusively to wind him up. It'd probably be impossible to wind him up with it now, although he wouldn't put it past Edmund to try anyway. 

"I guess. Seems strange to call me that when I'm calling you Edmund." 

"Fine. Kevin. There you go." It made him smile, pull himself back up into a sitting position, tap his own ash into the ashtray. He looked at Edmund, who gave him a smile before glancing out towards the window. The sun was setting, the night was starting to draw in. 

"What happens next? With us?"

"Oh, god. One nice thing about shagging other men is that they don't ask you bloody leading questions like that after sex. Time for you to learn that." 

"Sorry." Edmund waved his hand at him, stubbed out the end of his cigarette.

"Let's not spoil a nice evening with what ifs. Tell you what, we'll clean up and then go out to the Lamb and Flag. We'll get a pint, and I can point out the very spot where one of my ancestors beat the crap out of some bloke after he came out of the pub on the King's orders. All for making a dirty rhyme about the royal piece on the side."

"That sounds like your family." All the Blackadders seemed to be like that. His ancestors would be proud of how Edmund kept the family tradition of being a bastard up.

"That's the Blackadders for you, ready to kiss any arse to make a penny off it. Wasn't even a bad poem, by all accounts. Lots of rumpy-pumpy." Kevin laughed, stubbed out his cigarette. A clean up and then a drink with Edmund. Well, why not. The night started here. Everything felt possible, the questions could wait for later. Tonight they had all the time in the world.


	8. A time when you will be with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most self-indulgent part of this whole story, but it's their happy ending, and George makes a cameo!

Kevin crouched down and considered the strawberries. Despite the netting, they still weren't thriving. Maybe it wasn't a thief stealing them after all, there was something wrong with the soil instead. He'd have to look into it, stop by at the library tomorrow on his way home from work. 

"Not more courgettes, surely?" Kevin glanced up, and found Edmund looking back at him. He hadn't heard him come back in from work, must have come in just after he came out into the garden. 

"I didn't expect to end up with so many, you know." 

"If there's a shortage, you'll be the best stocked man in the country. I'm sick of the bloody things." 

"You can always cook your own dinners." Kevin stood up. He knew that Edmund wouldn't. He was the one who'd discovered that he rather liked cooking, took it as his chore. Edmund complained bitterly of how it reminded him of being a private when he peeled potatoes. Kevin thought it wouldn't be so traumatic if Edmund had behaved himself enough to not constantly be put on potato peeling duty as a punishment. "Welcome home." 

"Thank you, Darling." With one last glance over the vegetable patch, Kevin went back into the kitchen, followed in by Edmund. "What's for dinner?"

"Something that goes with courgettes." It was intentional, the groan of disgust made him grin. He paused and looked around the kitchen. It was organised just the way he liked it, even if he could see Edmund going through a drawer. He'd have to rearrange it again later. Despite that, he felt fond. He slipped behind Edmund and put his arms around him. Edmund paused, looked over his shoulder quizzically. "Just thought how nice it was to have you home."

"You are a terrible sap sometimes." It didn't make Edmund push him away. Instead he turned in his arms instead and kissed him. "You're not getting out of cooking by trying to seduce me." 

"How would that even work? By getting you to do it? I like being alive." It was teasing, an opportunity to steal another kiss before pulling away. He did have to get on, start dinner before it got too late. 

Sometimes when he thought about, sitting at his desk at Pratt & Sons, it felt so unlikely that he'd ended up here. It felt even more unlikely at the time. After that first night together, he was resigned to it being up in the air, something that wouldn't likely be permanent. Kevin knew he wouldn't go back to women, had realised that his interest was out of obligation instead of anything else. It'd fully struck him when Edmund talked about women. How genuinely interested, if occasionally excessively graphic, he was, even if it was tempered by the fact he was talking to another lover about them. It wasn't the idle boastful stories of other soldiers, other employees, other school boys. He'd never felt like that in his life. 

Well, perhaps there was a little boasting in Edmund's stories, to make Kevin feel like he'd got a great catch. Conceited git. As if Kevin didn't already feel like that. Not that he'd ever tell Edmund, it'd be dangerous for his ego to inflate that much. 

Kevin took the lesson to not ruin the moment with leading questions to heart. It remained temporary right until the war ended. The church bells rang out, the presses thundered with headlines of victory. They felt tired, relieved that the front-line was finally done with, the final months a waiting game to see if their luck failed, they got called back to serve despite getting out of it. 

They went out, got rat-arsed and went back to Edmund's place. They'd fucked, which was an interesting way to celebrate an armistice. Kevin thought it was the last time, that after this they would finally go their separate ways. Edmund lit up his cigarette afterwards, took his first puff and asked him.

"Kevin, what are you planning to do once you're discharged?"

"Go back to Pratt & Sons, I guess. They said they're keeping it open for me." The other plans he'd had while in France were long gone. Doris was ancient history, and with his leg he couldn't keep wicket now. He'd find something else. "What about you?" 

"Hmm. I've been thinking about this. See, I've been dying to get out of the army this whole time, because frankly, I hate getting shot at. It puts me in a really bad mood. But the boss said they'd keep me on if I wanted to stay." Kevin still didn't know exactly what Edmund did, something to do with military intelligence. All very hush-hush. "I'm starting to consider it. Civvy street doesn't seem very appealing and I'd have to work a lot harder too." Edmund scrunched his face at the thought. "Plus if there's another war in the next few years, I'll be too old for the front-line." 

"Ah. Sounds sensible." Kevin was dying to get out of the military. The thought of another war was off-putting. There'd be no exemption on the basis of age for him, he'd have to find another way to worm out of it. It'd be a lot easier if the peace just stuck instead. Kevin was very keen on peace.

"That's not all I've been thinking about, though." His hand reached out, his fingers ran through Kevin's hair. "I'd like this to continue. I'm happy with it. I like that you're not constantly nagging me with demands for marriage, although god knows you nag me about everything else." Edmund paused, blew out a cloud of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling. "Tell you what. I've got some savings, you've got some savings."

"I knew it, you've been through my saving books." 

"What's yours is mine."

"We're not married, you con artist. Keep your mitts off my money." 

"Well, since neither of us are going to get married now, I thought we could buy a house together." The suggestion surprised Kevin, made him look at Edmund in shock. Did he really mean it? He looked like he did.

On the surface, there was nothing strange about it. Two bachelors, old war comrades, buying a house together. One who refused to settle down, the other rejected by the only woman he'd loved. It wouldn't raise eyebrows. 

Underneath that was the most serious offer he was ever going to get from Edmund. It was completely unexpected, an offer that'd bind them together for what was likely to be the rest of their lives. It wasn't marriage, not between two men, but it was damn close. He let out a breath, shaky. 

"You're serious." 

"Yup. You're still a prat, but I think you're the only prat I'd want to live with." 

"Where?" The really important question. He wasn't going to refuse it, didn't want to. He still didn't want to say goodbye to Edmund, he would hold onto him for as long as he could. 

"Somewhere in London. Apart from that, well, we can think about it." It sounded so simple. 'We'. Just as he'd hoped, still considered by Edmund to be a 'we' instead of a 'me'. He leaned in, kissed Edmund with a mixture of love and relief. Despite his best efforts, it'd been bothering him for months that he didn't know what was coming next. The offer was more than he ever could have expected. 

"I'd like somewhere south of the river."

"Of course you would, but I was hoping for somewhere with some civilization." 

Joke was on Edmund. They'd ended up buying a terrace house in South London. Only ten years old, in good condition and close enough to the station for both of them. The red front door with the charming stained glass in it, the wisteria over the front porch, had won him over before he'd even stepped inside. Three bedrooms, a front and back garden that he spent his weekends fixing up. The cherry tree the previous owners planted was thriving in the back garden, along with the vegetables Kevin was growing. The strawberries were the only problem children. The hydrangeas and roses he'd planted in the front garden were doing so well they threatened to spill out into the street. 

Edmund hadn't cared that much, as long as it was comfortable, didn't leak or require lots of expensive repairs. The house had been Kevin's choice, something that Edmund had brought up angrily and repeatedly when they'd got into a fight while wallpapering the box room. They'd shouted at each other for a good hour before they ended up fucking on the wallpaper table, only narrowly avoided the table collapsing in the process. Kevin couldn't look at the corner with the mismatching patterns in the room without thinking of it fondly. 

There was a park nearby too, while not on the scale of the grand country house grounds they used to walk around, did have a lake. Its own coots, ducks and moorhens, that'd duck and dive in the same way when they walked around it. Along with a very aggressive pair of swans that occasionally took offence to them. 

It'd turned out to be the future he'd wanted. Not that different from how he imagined it, before he went over the top, after all. The big difference was who he was sharing it with. It felt so natural to share it with Edmund that he had to step back to really see it. Edmund Blackadder, a cunning bastard who'd caused him nothing but trouble once upon a time. Funny to end up sharing the rest of his life with him. Funny that Edmund seemed content with it too, though he was still fighting with the idiots of the world and causing chaos wherever he went. If only he'd stop feuding with the coal-man. 

It was lucky, too. 

There was a letter for Edmund in the afternoon post. Edmund read it after dinner, frowned, read it again as Kevin sat next to him on the sofa, leaning against him and reading the newspaper. A lot of Edmund's post made him frown, it wasn't enough by itself to worry him. The relaxed arm around his waist said it was Edmund being his usual, overdramatic self rather than any actual crisis. 

"It's that idiot again." Kevin leaned his head into the crook of Edmund's shoulder, but didn't look up from the newspaper either. The kiss on his forehead did make him look up at Edmund, mostly to see if he was about to get buttered up for something. Kevin was open to it if Edmund did it with enough subtlety. 

"Which idiot?" There were too many idiots that wrote to Edmund for that to narrow it down. 

"George. Still inviting me over to his house this summer for the weekend."

"Why don't you go?"

"Because if I wanted to spend quality time with a bunch of inbred idiots, I wouldn't travel all the way to Sussex to do it. I already get paid to do enough of it during the week." Kevin glanced at the new books on the book case, despite himself. The Russian primers and books that had appeared over the past few years were very suspicious. He was a lot happier not knowing what exactly Edmund had learnt Russian for, even if he could make an educated guess. 

"Where in Sussex, anyway?"

"I thought you'd be interested in that. Feeling a little nostalgic for that holiday again?" Kevin lifted his head off Edmund's shoulder, lowering his newspaper to glare at Edmund. It didn't do anything, but it made his point. 

"I was just asking."

"It's right in the South Downs. Apparently you leave the house and you're slap bang in the middle of them. Although remembering how accurate George was with measuring distances on maps, they might actually be on the other side of the county." He thought of the holiday with Doris, a story that Edmund had managed to wrangle out of him when he'd found that tobacco tin again when they were moving. Edmund had been scathing, particularly about his old dream to go back again with her after the war.

Despite that, he'd found a new tobacco tin on the bed a couple of weeks later, in a parcel with his name on it. A different painting on the lid, of the grand country house that they'd recovered in before it was a hospital. The gesture was unexpected, touching but also quite funny. So Edmund could still get jealous, even after all this time. As soon as he'd finished the tobacco he'd moved all his keepsakes into it, put the old tin at the bottom of the wardrobe. He'd kept the letters from Doris in it, still hadn't got rid of them. Maybe a reminder of what he'd narrowly avoided, thanks to that hospital stay. How he'd ended up with something better.

"He's put it in here again too. _'Darling still invited!'_." Edmund looked at him with amusement. 

"I didn't realise you were so keen on turning down a free holiday. I bet his family's ancestral home is nicer than a Bed and Breakfast." 

"It's probably stuffed with chinless uncles and the other inbred horrors they're hiding down there." 

"Chinless uncles or paying for a holiday? I know what you'd prefer, Edmund." Edmund did the thing where he screwed up his eyes and gurned, which Kevin knew meant that he'd won the argument. Marvellous. Sussex it was. 

Kevin got up to head any further arguments about the holiday to Sussex off at the pass, and stretched, shoulders stiff from being at his desk all day. He walked over to the mantelpiece, looked at the clock on it as if to check if it needed rewinding before moving to what he actually wanted to look at. It was the postcard from New Year's Day, 1918.

It was Edmund's copy of it. Kevin didn't realise he'd kept it until it suddenly appeared on the mantelpiece one day. At first he'd thought Edmund had gone through his tin again, displaying it there as a perverse trophy from a successful hunt, until he flipped it over and found Edmund's handwriting on the back. It was in French, and despite his previous boasting, it took him and his schoolboy French a minute to work it out. 

_'A year of surprises from beginning to end.'_ He couldn't argue with that, was content to leave it at that when he finally figured out the last part. _'The biggest surprise of all was the one standing next to me. Next year looks promising. December 31, 1918.'_ He'd put it down carefully, remembered spending that night together. How he'd felt cautiously optimistic about the coming year despite, well, everything from the threat of the armistice falling through to Spanish flu. Strange to feel the future was something to possibly look forward to, even with all that. He looked at Blackadder staring out of the photograph at him, as sharp eyed as ever, but not so sharp that he couldn't be surprised by him. It made him feel a little smug. It also made him love Edmund even more.

Today the postcard made him feel nostalgic too. He was glad it was done, that the war was over and peace looked likely to remain for a while at least, but it was also from the time when he'd fallen in love with Edmund. He had already fallen but hadn't quite realised yet in that photograph, was about a week away from starting to realising it. It was quite lucky that he had a photograph of them together from that moment, just as their relationship was starting to shift and reached the next stage in its growth.

Embarrassing as it was, he was, in fact, as much of a sap as Edmund accused him of being. The sudden touch of a pair of hands on his waist broke his thoughts. Edmund's arms wrapped around him from behind and he leaned back into his embrace. He looked up from the postcard into the mirror and met Edmund's eyes reflected in it. Clearly he'd got a little too distracted by thinking about the past for Edmund's tastes. Not that Kevin minded being interrupted like this, with Edmund holding him and pressed up against his back. It was even a little romantic, though naturally that meant Edmund had to follow it up with something that wasn't.

"It's funny how keen he is on you coming too. I think you won him over by trying to save my skin for your own benefit." It did sound like the kind of thing that'd win someone like George over, who wouldn't consider if he had any other motives beyond wanting to help Edmund out. Which in fact, was most of his motivation, thank you very much. Edmund made it sound so seedy when he put it like that, like he'd expected him to pay him back with sexual favours.

"You're making it sound like I saved you just for that." Edmund raised his eyebrows and said nothing else. "I did not save your life just in case you'd agree to fuck afterwards in gratitude for it!"

"It's not a bad motive. I would have been grateful enough to at least give you a blowjob if that's what you had wanted one in return." 

"Just one?" If he had saved him for that reason alone, which he hadn't, it'd be a little miserly to only give him one blowjob.

"Hmm. Maybe more than one." 

"And now?" Edmund snorted a laugh. 

"If you'd like one now, you only have to ask. No need for any heroics beforehand." The idea was appealing, very appealing. Especially with how casually it was offered, like Edmund enjoyed sucking him off so much that it was no trouble to offer it whenever he wanted it. With Edmund kissing his neck, Kevin considered what else his mouth could do lower down. 

"How about tonight?"

"My diary's absolutely packed." Despite that, his hand slid down from Kevin's side, down to brush over the top of his waistband, mouth still pressed against his neck. "I'll see if I can fit you in around all the important business I've got to do. Lloyd George said he'd give me a call and I simply can't miss it."

"You really are a bloody tease, you know."

"A little waiting never hurt anyone, Darling." Kevin strongly disagreed when it came to Edmund touching him, but Edmund's hand moved down from brushing over his waistband to his cock, and he decided to save that point for later.

* * *

Kevin waited in bed, trying not to think about how badly he wanted Edmund to touch him and failing. Living together stopped the yearning overwhelming him like it had before, now he knew he could touch Edmund whenever he wanted. Now he knew that Edmund would touch him back too, even just with his arm around him when they were sitting next to each other. 

Sometimes it still came back. Like when Edmund was being a tease, getting him half hard in front of the fireplace before backing off and then vanishing for an hour. It made him ache for Edmund to touch him again, and not just in a horny way.

But it was a horny kind of ache, too. He sighed as he lay back against the pillows, back flat against the mattress, ignoring the urge to touch himself just to relieve the tension growing inside him. How long did it take to brush his teeth? It seemed excessive. The strain of waiting made his left leg twitch. 

Edmund came in, turned off the light and slid into bed before Kevin could say a word. From the way he pressed up tight against him, went straight in to kiss him deeply, Edmund was eager from all the waiting too. As his tongue moved into his mouth, deepening the kiss, his hand moved down to undo his pyjama bottoms. 

Kevin trembled at the touch, at Edmund's hand untying the cord, brushing over his stomach as he did. If Edmund wound him up for too long, the tension tended to burst out of him like this, as explosive as the first time Edmund fucked him. His cock started to swell as Edmund pulled them down, exposed him to the night before wrapping his fingers around his cock and giving it a couple of tugs. His hips rolled into it, wanting more. Edmund pressed down harder on his mouth, tongue swiping him harder as he started to wank him off. 

His thighs were still trembling, from the tension, from lust when Edmund pulled back from his mouth. His lips were red, a little swollen already. They'd be even more swollen after sucking his dick, a thought that made arousal shoot up his spine. 

"God, I love seeing you all highly strung and wound up like this. It's so much more fun to make you explode because you want me so badly instead of from rage." Combined with the hand working his cock, it felt like taunting. It was infuriating and arousing, that classic combination of Edmund being an arse and Edmund talking dirty while getting him off. 

"Are you going to do something useful with that mouth or not?" Even in the low light, he could see the amusement in Edmund's eyes. Edmund knew its effect on him and so did it on purpose. Kevin was too proud to admit he liked it, not proud enough to get Edmund to stop.

"Oh, is talking not useful? Shame. I guess you'd prefer it around your cock." That made his cock throb against Edmund's hand, because of course he wanted Edmund sucking his cock. He'd wanted it all evening. 

"You were boasting about it. Scared you can't deliver?" It was hard to get the words out, worth it for the way it made Edmund lean in and kiss him hard, speed up his strokes as he swelled to his full length. His mouth was hot and wet, would feel as good around his dick as it did against his own mouth.

Edmund pulled back and pulled the sheets off Kevin. His hand stilled as he looked at him. Too much tension, need in him to fully enjoy Edmund staring at his cock and trembling thighs but not touching him. He spread his thighs open wider with flushed cheeks, presenting himself to Edmund in a way that made him take a steadying breath. 

He might not feel like the most attractive man in the world, but when Edmund looked at him like this, like he was, he could almost believe he in fact was. Edmund wasn't an idiot after all, and if Edmund found him attractive, maybe there was something to it. 

The hand on his cock shifted away, moved to join the other hand on his thighs. Not what he wanted, he made a noise of complaint that Edmund ignored. Instead they pushed his thighs further apart, lingered on the soft inner skin of his thighs, teasing it as his thighs shook. The dip of the mattress as Edmund settled in-between his thighs. He gave them one last squeeze before he leaned in. His breath puffed over the very tip of his cock, made him shudder before his tongue licked it. Kevin wriggled against the mattress, pushed up against Edmund's hot, waiting mouth. 

This time he didn't tease him. He opened his mouth, let Kevin feed the first inch of his cock through his parted lips before he took the rest in with one smooth movement. 

"Fuck." It came out as a gasp, as he was swallowed up by that heat, one hand going into Edmund's hair as he started to suck. The other clutched onto the sheets, to remain connected to the earth as Edmund sucked him harder. He gave a small thrust of his hips for more, and Edmund's hands moved from his thighs to his hips, pinning him down to stop him from moving. This was going to be at Edmund's pace, a decision that considering how Edmund was sucking his cock so hard that it was like he was trying to draw his life out through it, he didn't mind at all. Didn't have enough mental power to mind even if he'd wanted to as Edmund pulled back, worked his tongue under his slit and teased it before swallowing him back down again. 

His thighs shook as he started leaking precum that Edmund swallowed down without pause. Both of his hands were on Edmund's head now, digging into his scalp as his legs twitched. A gasp of his name escaped him, made Edmund bob his head, suck even harder as he squirmed. Oh, god. It felt like too much, like he had to let go, his entire body shook with the tension, the want, it was too much. 

With a groan and no other warning, he came in Edmund's mouth. He swallowed him down like it was nothing, didn't stop as Kevin's mind went completely blank and his body collapsed under the force of his orgasm. All the tension wrung out of him by Edmund's mouth. When he finally pulled back from Kevin, with a frankly obscene pop that did manage to break through his haze and made him flush, he felt completely soft and pliable. Ready to comfortably turn over and fall asleep. 

"Kevin." The call of his name was quiet but insistent, heated. It made him blink, readjust his eyes to look at Edmund. He'd shifted back up on his knees, his erection straining against the cloth. Ah. Of course. Kevin reached out, a little lazily, hiked down Edmund's pyjamas to get to his cock. He was very hard against his hand. Was that just from sucking him off? It made him feel fond, and wanted to return the favour.

"Come up closer." His voice was thick with satisfaction, fucked out. Edmund shuffled closer until Kevin reached over, pulled him up next to him, to the headboard. Much easier to do it like this for him, less chance of aggravating his leg. Kevin stroked his cock thoughtfully, watched the way it made Edmund shudder, before leaning over and taking Edmund's cock into his mouth.

He wasn't as good as Edmund at it, didn't have the same experience in giving and receiving. He was learning though, especially with Edmund teaching him what he liked. Kevin liked the feel of his cock in his mouth, the warmth of it, his mouth feeling stuffed as he slid more of his dick in. The way teasing the head of his cock with his tongue made him groan. 

He reached for Edmund's arse with both hands as he took more of his cock into his mouth, used it to pull him closer. Edmund's fingers tangled in his hair as he thrust into his mouth, made Kevin's eyes water as he adjusted. It was a steady pace of fucking, as Kevin swallowed his cock down, sucked on it harder. His hands tightened on Edmund's arse, fingers digging into his soft cheeks as he fucked his mouth. Kevin relaxed into it, focused on his breathing as much as how he was sucking, until Edmund gloriously came in his mouth. 

He swallowed as he came, swallowed his cum down easily as Edmund spilt over. It felt satisfying, made his sore mouth worth it for the completely gone expression on Edmund's face. That had to be one of his favourite expressions of Edmund's. It was by far one of the most honest ones, too. 

Edmund pulled out of his mouth slowly, let his softening cock rub against his lips before pulling back fully, tucking himself away. Kevin realised he was still exposed, pulled his bottoms back up as Edmund flopped down next to him on the bed. Kevin turned, pulled the sheets back over them before pressing up against Edmund's back. His arms held onto Edmund tightly. It made him think of Edmund holding onto him in the ambulance, to stop him from falling out. The memory, even if he didn't actually remember it, drew a huff of laughter from him. 

"What are you laughing about?"

"It's like in the ambulance." Edmund sighed, turned around to face him before pushing him onto his back and rolling half on top of him. His head rested on Kevin's chest, just at the right spot for Kevin to lean down and kiss the top of it as Edmund held onto his chest. 

"Now that's how it was in the ambulance, with you clinging onto me like a terrified bush baby. Happy?"

"Very." He felt sated, relaxed after letting loose that tension. Felt amused by Edmund pulling him around to demonstrate exactly how clingy he'd been the first time they shared a bed together. Felt happy that Edmund was holding onto him so tightly. He might be proving a point, but he wasn't moving away once he'd finished proving it either. Felt lucky that he got to cuddle like this most nights now. 

"Excellent. Good night." Kevin tilted Edmund's chin up, who let out a noise of annoyance but didn't move away as he leaned in for a goodnight kiss. Even returned it for a moment, before settling back down on Kevin's chest. 

"Good night."

* * *

The sounding of the gong woke Kevin up. He hadn't even realised he'd fallen asleep. He blinked and found himself looking up at the blue sky. A couple of clouds drifting along aimlessly. Otherwise, it was a beautiful clear day. 

They'd gone on a walk that afternoon, just the two of them. Even in rolling chalk land, his limp made him too slow for the sort of pace George liked to set on his walks. They'd tried it on the day they'd arrived, and quickly found it was a bust when George had vanished off into the distance and kept having to come back to find them because they didn't know where they were going. George felt terrible about it, but also couldn't help it. Apparently his legs were just too long to walk slowly. Kevin hadn't argued about it, just shared a look with Edmund that said more than enough. It felt a lot like old times, just as George had declared when they'd arrived on the morning train. 

'It's jolly good to see two old war chums living together too!' It would have been worth coming for the look on Edmund's face as he tried to respond to that particular statement alone. The deeply ingrained urge to point out they weren't friends back in the war, competing with the desire for an easy life where he didn't have to explain why they were living together if they weren't old war chums. 

Kevin had eventually taken mercy and diverted George's attention by asking about how the county's cricket season was going. It worked a treat.

George was just as dim but good natured as he'd remembered. The contrast wasn't so striking in civilian life, where that nature wasn't such a risk to life and limb, and where George had happily wandered back into the niche that he was born for. Not that he was sure what exactly George was doing these days, and not for the reasons he didn't know about Edmund's work. He had a very strong suspicion that George didn't know what he was doing in his job in the City either. At least he didn't seem to be doing anything important this time. 

After they returned from their walk, which had involved a very heated discussion regarding if it was supposed to be a giant willy or just abdominal muscles on the huge chalk figure carved into a hillside among other, less important subjects, they'd gone back outside into the garden within half an hour. It was too nice to stay inside for long.

Garden was the wrong word for it. They were definitely grounds. They were even bigger than the grounds at the hospital, almost comically large. They wandered through them, had stopped when his leg started to get too stiff. They took a break in the rolling grass, far away from the house. 

His head was resting on Edmund's lap. He tilted his head, saw he was reading a Russian book this time. It was very, very suspicious. 

"Who are you reading?"

"Teffi. A White Russian said I absolutely must read her. It's not too bad, a damn sight funnier than the kind of rubbish you like." 

"A White Russian?" Edmund made a zipped lip gesture as he put the book down. Yes, he was much happier not knowing exactly how involved Edmund was getting in the civil war going on in Russia right now. "Was that a gong? I didn't realise people really did that."

"Yes, it does make it feel like feeding time at the zoo, apart from the zoo animals would be much faster on the uptake. We should go before he comes out to find us."

"He'll be looking for Baldrick first." They considered that point. Baldrick was incapable of navigating the house and had been permanently lost in it for his entire stay. It was fascinating, if alarming. Kevin feared he'd wake up in the middle of the night and find Baldrick staring at him from the end of the bed, that gormless confused look on his face. His heart wouldn't be able to take the shock.

"No rush for us, then, he'll be doing that for hours." Kevin looked back up at the sky. It felt familiar. It reminded him of the glimpse he remembered, from that blank between going over the top and waking up on the ward. The same sky, just as indifferent to what was going on under it as it was then. Just like the glimpse he remembered. Just like when Edmund had looked up at it, thought his luck was finally gone when it was just coming back. 

He reached up, pulled Edmund down for a quick kiss. The distant call of a lark. The warmth of Edmund's lips against his. His hand cupping his cheek gently. Another glorious summer that felt endless, back in the South Downs again. Not 1913 again, but something better. Edmund moved his lips away, brushed them over his ear, whispered the words that could still surprise him. 

"I love you." He smiled, didn't even flinch at the follow-up. It wouldn't be Edmund if he didn't. "Even if you are a pillock." 

"I love you too. Even if you are a complete bastard." Edmund was, and he couldn't imagine being anywhere else or with anyone else. He was exactly where he needed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chalk figure is based on the Cerne Abbas Giant, which is actually in Dorset, but creative licence says it's in Sussex instead for the purpose of this story. Or they have a local rip-off.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
